I can’t help but notice that whenever I start to think I’m “getting better”, the universe seems intent on proving me otherwise. After a full day of diligently waiting at my flight gate, a mere few minutes before we are supposed to board they announce the flight has been canceled. I’m sent to the costumer service center, again, but this time there’s a line a mile long. I start to feel the same paralyzing anxiety and anger that I had in the morning when I just missed my connection. I had to use every yogic technique in my toolkit to keep from jumping the line or becoming hysterical (alternate nostril breathing = magical).

Normally this wouldn’t be so difficult. Then why is it now? One thing Antonio would reiterated frequently at the retreat was “new grief triggers old grief”. Grief, by definition, is the normal response to the loss of people or things we are attached to. 

So it kind of makes sense. I was attached to the idea of getting home today. Justin even took the day off work so he could pick me up and hang out with me. Actually I was attached to getting home each of the five days previous, too. Each time my flights were canceled, there was this build up and anticipation leading to a dissapointment. Although relatively minor losses, each new dissapointment triggered a wave of grief, each time a little bit worse. 

Obviously losing a scheduled flight is not at all the same as losing your first born son. Nevertheless, it propels to the surface all the emotions of grief I felt after losing Landon. All the sadness, anger and anxiety that nine months of anticipation and attachment leading to complete and utter disappointment spawn. Each new loss is like being stuffed back into that unbearable and suffocating space. 

After about 2 hours of waiting I get to the front of the line. I pass my boarding pass to the agent. At this point I’ve let go of all expectations of getting home… Ever.  

20 minutes pass by. There’s lots of mouse clicking. I figure this is a good sign. Then, finally, he says “I’m going to get you home tonight”. I want to hug him but the giant desk separating us is almost as tall as me. 

Fingers are crossed but not too tightly.

I can’t help but notice that whenever I start to think I’m “getting better”, the universe seems intent on proving me otherwise. After a full day of diligently waiting at my flight gate, a mere few minutes before we are supposed to board they announce the flight has been canceled. I’m sent to the costumer service center, again, but this time there’s a line a mile long. I start to feel the same paralyzing anxiety and anger that I had in the morning when I just missed my connection. I had to use every yogic technique in my toolkit to keep from jumping the line or becoming hysterical (alternate nostril breathing = magical).

Normally this wouldn’t be so difficult. Then why is it now? One thing Antonio would reiterated frequently at the retreat was “new grief triggers old grief”. Grief, by definition, is the normal response to the loss of people or things we are attached to.

So it kind of makes sense. I was attached to the idea of getting home today. Justin even took the day off work so he could pick me up and hang out with me. Actually I was attached to getting home each of the five days previous, too. Each time my flights were canceled, there was this build up and anticipation leading to a dissapointment. Although relatively minor losses, each new dissapointment triggered a wave of grief, each time a little bit worse.

Obviously losing a scheduled flight is not at all the same as losing your first born son. Nevertheless, it propels to the surface all the emotions of grief I felt after losing Landon. All the sadness, anger and anxiety that nine months of anticipation and attachment leading to complete and utter disappointment spawn. Each new loss is like being stuffed back into that unbearable and suffocating space.

After about 2 hours of waiting I get to the front of the line. I pass my boarding pass to the agent. At this point I’ve let go of all expectations of getting home… Ever.

20 minutes pass by. There’s lots of mouse clicking. I figure this is a good sign. Then, finally, he says “I’m going to get you home tonight”. I want to hug him but the giant desk separating us is almost as tall as me.

Fingers are crossed but not too tightly.

Lately I keep having dreams about being chased, desperately running away from someone or something. 
Early this morning my flight into Chicago was delayed but I didn’t worry too much - I’d just have to make good time getting to my connecting flight. An airport personnel informed me I’d have to go to go to point A and take a shuttle to the terminal. I raced there, only to find that the shuttle wouldn’t come for another 15 minutes.

I looked at the clock. I had roughly 10 minutes. I can do this, I thought. So I ran. The last time I had run more than a slow jog was this time last year. Nonetheless, I was determined to catch that fucking flight. The further I got, the further I realized I was. So I ran faster. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but I wasn’t going let a flight delay screw up my plans after 4 days of being stranded. 

By the time I reached the gate I was drenched in sweat; my heart hurt and my throat was seizing up. My mind flashed back to when I was 17 and fell through the ice on the river while walking the family dog, and had to sprint home before I froze to death. I knew this wasn’t life or death, but that’s exactly what it felt like.

The boarding zone was empty. The steel door had just been locked. The plane was still sitting there, just a few meters past that obnoxious pane of glass. I banged on the door, waved my arms at the pilot and sent telepathic messages to the crew “PLEASE PLEASE let me go HOME!!” I started hyperventilating, shaking and going into a full on panic attack. 

I knew then it really wasn’t the flight I was upset about. I was experiencing a STUG - Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief, as they call it. I tried to breath. A kind older man offered to show me to customer service. Thoroughly embarrassed and overdosed on adrenaline I stood there willing myself not to vomit as my flight was rebooked.

I remembered how Christina Rasmussen in @secondfirsts describes the “turning point” in her grief as the day she frantically chased the mail truck down the street in her bath robe in the dead of winter.

I realized then that maybe this is my turning point. I didn’t make it to my destination on time, but at least I’m running *towards* something.

Lately I keep having dreams about being chased, desperately running away from someone or something.
Early this morning my flight into Chicago was delayed but I didn’t worry too much - I’d just have to make good time getting to my connecting flight. An airport personnel informed me I’d have to go to go to point A and take a shuttle to the terminal. I raced there, only to find that the shuttle wouldn’t come for another 15 minutes.

I looked at the clock. I had roughly 10 minutes. I can do this, I thought. So I ran. The last time I had run more than a slow jog was this time last year. Nonetheless, I was determined to catch that fucking flight. The further I got, the further I realized I was. So I ran faster. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but I wasn’t going let a flight delay screw up my plans after 4 days of being stranded.

By the time I reached the gate I was drenched in sweat; my heart hurt and my throat was seizing up. My mind flashed back to when I was 17 and fell through the ice on the river while walking the family dog, and had to sprint home before I froze to death. I knew this wasn’t life or death, but that’s exactly what it felt like.

The boarding zone was empty. The steel door had just been locked. The plane was still sitting there, just a few meters past that obnoxious pane of glass. I banged on the door, waved my arms at the pilot and sent telepathic messages to the crew “PLEASE PLEASE let me go HOME!!” I started hyperventilating, shaking and going into a full on panic attack.

I knew then it really wasn’t the flight I was upset about. I was experiencing a STUG - Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief, as they call it. I tried to breath. A kind older man offered to show me to customer service. Thoroughly embarrassed and overdosed on adrenaline I stood there willing myself not to vomit as my flight was rebooked.

I remembered how Christina Rasmussen in @secondfirsts describes the “turning point” in her grief as the day she frantically chased the mail truck down the street in her bath robe in the dead of winter.

I realized then that maybe this is my turning point. I didn’t make it to my destination on time, but at least I’m running *towards* something.

Pronoia: the belief that the universe is conspiring in your highest good. 

So I’m still in Albany 😁. I honestly never expected when my flight was canceled on Friday that flights would keep getting canceled and I’d end up spending 4 nights here, but now I’m thinking it was really meant to be. Earlier when I booked my retreat at Kripalu, I wanted to stay a bit longer and explore New York because I’d never been. However “grief shatters and scatters the linear thinking”, as Antonio says, and I found myself barely able to book a flight, let alone make any extra plans. So maybe this was the universe’s way of granting my wish. If it wasn’t for this delay I wouldn’t have met @katietheyogi , whose become like a sister to me after just three short days. Nor would I have had the privilege to spend hours in conversation with @kellycollinswebster , @natalieleitman , @ruchel1985, some of the most wonderful ladies who taught me so much about life, death, and motherhood. It seems our souls I know were destined to meet. 

It got me thinking about how social media as a creative means of transnational networking has really made a difference in the way we view our world. A year ago  I’d never dream of landing in a place I’d never heard of and in only a few short days connect with people I just met in such a profound way. Particularly within the yoga community, there is a real sense of unity that crosses borders. While there are plenty of criticisms that can be directed at yoga and self-promotion in social media, my view is that if yoga is union and that’s what social media facilitates, then we must be somewhat on the right track!

Pronoia: the belief that the universe is conspiring in your highest good.

So I’m still in Albany 😁. I honestly never expected when my flight was canceled on Friday that flights would keep getting canceled and I’d end up spending 4 nights here, but now I’m thinking it was really meant to be. Earlier when I booked my retreat at Kripalu, I wanted to stay a bit longer and explore New York because I’d never been. However “grief shatters and scatters the linear thinking”, as Antonio says, and I found myself barely able to book a flight, let alone make any extra plans. So maybe this was the universe’s way of granting my wish. If it wasn’t for this delay I wouldn’t have met @katietheyogi , whose become like a sister to me after just three short days. Nor would I have had the privilege to spend hours in conversation with @kellycollinswebster , @natalieleitman , @ruchel1985, some of the most wonderful ladies who taught me so much about life, death, and motherhood. It seems our souls I know were destined to meet.

It got me thinking about how social media as a creative means of transnational networking has really made a difference in the way we view our world. A year ago I’d never dream of landing in a place I’d never heard of and in only a few short days connect with people I just met in such a profound way. Particularly within the yoga community, there is a real sense of unity that crosses borders. While there are plenty of criticisms that can be directed at yoga and self-promotion in social media, my view is that if yoga is union and that’s what social media facilitates, then we must be somewhat on the right track!

"The soul’s attachment to the body is like that of a fledgling, which forsakes its empty shell and flies away" 
- Subramuniyaswami 

Justin sent me this photo of Cody with Landon’s blanky this morning 💕.  I miss my boys so much. Since Landon died I think I have a much stronger need for my familiar surroundings and relationships.

Right now I’m reading Signs of Life, a memoir of a young mom whose husband dies in a tragic accident while she is pregnant with their first child. I can’t help but be enthralled by the story of someone going through an “opposite” loss. Like the bond with her son is strengthened because he is the strongest connection to her husband, I feel my love for Justin grows even more than I thought possible knowing that he is part of our boy. And then I’m terrified by the thought of losing him too. 

This is the conundrum in our culture where love = attachment. Psychologically, feelings of attachement or being “bound” to someone were key to our survival as infants and continue to influence our love life and relationships as adults. A lack of attachment is usually seen as a lack of love. After a person dies, we often become attached to our grief, because we feel that without the sadness we lose the ties that bind us to the deceased and that we are not loving them as we should. 

Yoga, on the other hand, equates love with non-attachement. In many Eastern belief systems it is imperative that the griever work through his or her grief and embark on a new life in connection with, but not tethered to, the loved one, so that both souls can be free to continue on their journeys. 

But how is it possible to be not attached to the ones we love, when it is a core aspect of our humanity? The answer lies in the practice of “detached attachment”, which is loving wholeheartedly while keeping a fierce awareness that every relationship will one day end. This way we truly appreciate every single moment, no longer in denial of the reality that most of us spend our lives hiding from:  all things come to and end. But, like the baby bird that emerges from it’s shell, perhaps endings are also beginnings. 

#Landonslegacy

"The soul’s attachment to the body is like that of a fledgling, which forsakes its empty shell and flies away"
- Subramuniyaswami

Justin sent me this photo of Cody with Landon’s blanky this morning 💕. I miss my boys so much. Since Landon died I think I have a much stronger need for my familiar surroundings and relationships.

Right now I’m reading Signs of Life, a memoir of a young mom whose husband dies in a tragic accident while she is pregnant with their first child. I can’t help but be enthralled by the story of someone going through an “opposite” loss. Like the bond with her son is strengthened because he is the strongest connection to her husband, I feel my love for Justin grows even more than I thought possible knowing that he is part of our boy. And then I’m terrified by the thought of losing him too.

This is the conundrum in our culture where love = attachment. Psychologically, feelings of attachement or being “bound” to someone were key to our survival as infants and continue to influence our love life and relationships as adults. A lack of attachment is usually seen as a lack of love. After a person dies, we often become attached to our grief, because we feel that without the sadness we lose the ties that bind us to the deceased and that we are not loving them as we should.

Yoga, on the other hand, equates love with non-attachement. In many Eastern belief systems it is imperative that the griever work through his or her grief and embark on a new life in connection with, but not tethered to, the loved one, so that both souls can be free to continue on their journeys.

But how is it possible to be not attached to the ones we love, when it is a core aspect of our humanity? The answer lies in the practice of “detached attachment”, which is loving wholeheartedly while keeping a fierce awareness that every relationship will one day end. This way we truly appreciate every single moment, no longer in denial of the reality that most of us spend our lives hiding from: all things come to and end. But, like the baby bird that emerges from it’s shell, perhaps endings are also beginnings.

#Landonslegacy

So guess what… I’m still stuck in Albany. My flight was canceled AGAIN today. But of course there is always a reason. I got to take a fantastic yoga class with @katietheyogi at Estudio (new class 11am Sundays!), it was just what I needed. I’m so incredible grateful for her and her family welcoming me into their hearts and home, it has truly been an incredible blessing. 😊💕
 Leggings are #pranavidastyle .com … Sorry the website was down a bit this morning but has since been fixed

So guess what… I’m still stuck in Albany. My flight was canceled AGAIN today. But of course there is always a reason. I got to take a fantastic yoga class with @katietheyogi at Estudio (new class 11am Sundays!), it was just what I needed. I’m so incredible grateful for her and her family welcoming me into their hearts and home, it has truly been an incredible blessing. 😊💕
Leggings are #pranavidastyle .com … Sorry the website was down a bit this morning but has since been fixed

"We don’t get over our grief, we change our relationship to it" 
- Lyn Prashant

In Kripalu at least a few times a day, Antonio would ask “what’s your word?”, and we each would have to name what we were feeling at that moment. 

Today my word is “joyful”. Yesterday when my flight was cancelled I found a hotel with another retreat participant, a pediatric cancer care nurse and yoga therapist in Vancouver. Her insights and stories of being present in the final moments of many young children brought me comfort. Some of the things she heard her patients say after coming out of comas or moments before death really leave me no doubt they feel only pure love, comfort and joy upon passing. We both believe that children, and even more so babies, who die are usually far more connected to spirit than we as adults can truly comprehend. 

Then today, I had the privilege to meet with a girl who has been reading my story since Landon’s birth. She also lost her first child, a baby boy named Caleb, soon after birth. I was floored by how identical our stories are, right down to our labor experiences and emotions in the days that followed, the similar ways our husbands grieve, and even the heart shaped footprint necklace we both wear. Every word she spoke could have been coming out of my mouth. Hearing the way she was able to be with her grief, cherish and find the positive in every part of her pregnancy and birth experience, and even go back to work in the a same hospital she lost her Caleb, as a labour and delivery nurse and lactation consultant, really amazed me. It was also reassuring to see someone further along in this journey (it has been almost a year for her), and have a realistic idea of what my life might be like going forward.

She too will likely never know what happened to her baby boy, but feels deep down, as I do, that he fufilled his destiny. Our boys only knew love - never fear, hurt or hunger - and in a sense lived the most blessed lives possible. 

Up until now, having these conversations would have been impossible for me. Now my grief doesn’t need my constant attention. My baby boy is getting a bit more independent, I think.

"We don’t get over our grief, we change our relationship to it"
- Lyn Prashant

In Kripalu at least a few times a day, Antonio would ask “what’s your word?”, and we each would have to name what we were feeling at that moment.

Today my word is “joyful”. Yesterday when my flight was cancelled I found a hotel with another retreat participant, a pediatric cancer care nurse and yoga therapist in Vancouver. Her insights and stories of being present in the final moments of many young children brought me comfort. Some of the things she heard her patients say after coming out of comas or moments before death really leave me no doubt they feel only pure love, comfort and joy upon passing. We both believe that children, and even more so babies, who die are usually far more connected to spirit than we as adults can truly comprehend.

Then today, I had the privilege to meet with a girl who has been reading my story since Landon’s birth. She also lost her first child, a baby boy named Caleb, soon after birth. I was floored by how identical our stories are, right down to our labor experiences and emotions in the days that followed, the similar ways our husbands grieve, and even the heart shaped footprint necklace we both wear. Every word she spoke could have been coming out of my mouth. Hearing the way she was able to be with her grief, cherish and find the positive in every part of her pregnancy and birth experience, and even go back to work in the a same hospital she lost her Caleb, as a labour and delivery nurse and lactation consultant, really amazed me. It was also reassuring to see someone further along in this journey (it has been almost a year for her), and have a realistic idea of what my life might be like going forward.

She too will likely never know what happened to her baby boy, but feels deep down, as I do, that he fufilled his destiny. Our boys only knew love - never fear, hurt or hunger - and in a sense lived the most blessed lives possible.

Up until now, having these conversations would have been impossible for me. Now my grief doesn’t need my constant attention. My baby boy is getting a bit more independent, I think.

Have you checked out www.pranavidastyle.com's new website yet? Created by yoga teacher Amelia Barnes (me! 😜), PranaVidaStyle.com’s vision is to inspire women and girls of all ages, shapes, sizes, backgrounds and abilities to SHINE. Each of the bold, colourful prints reflects symbolism associated with personal and spiritual growth, transformation and qualities of love, compassion, wisdom and strength. Each item of clothing on our website is modeled by a different yogi, in an effort to show off how awesome the styles look on a range of unique bodies. Through our promotional material and social media presence we strive to empower women to take pride in their stories and flaunt their own beauty; to stand in their power and live fearlessly and unapologetically. All clothing is designed and handmade, with love, in Winnipeg, Canada.

Have you checked out www.pranavidastyle.com's new website yet? Created by yoga teacher Amelia Barnes (me! 😜), PranaVidaStyle.com’s vision is to inspire women and girls of all ages, shapes, sizes, backgrounds and abilities to SHINE. Each of the bold, colourful prints reflects symbolism associated with personal and spiritual growth, transformation and qualities of love, compassion, wisdom and strength. Each item of clothing on our website is modeled by a different yogi, in an effort to show off how awesome the styles look on a range of unique bodies. Through our promotional material and social media presence we strive to empower women to take pride in their stories and flaunt their own beauty; to stand in their power and live fearlessly and unapologetically. All clothing is designed and handmade, with love, in Winnipeg, Canada.

"Grief is when the veil between self and spirit is the thinnest" - Antonio Sausys

This morning I woke up with the inexplicable urge to get up and greet the sunrise. I walked down the hill to the lake where a thick fog was just beginning to lift. The sun was persisting to break through, it’s light reflecting off the cloud-like haze that blanketed the water. Ever since I was a kid I loved to swim, so I got down to my underwear and jumped right in. It was cold. That brain-freeze cold, take-your-breath-away cold that numbs your body. I dove under and swam around for awhile, bearing the intensity of the sensations. Not because I’m crazy or enjoy pain. But because I knew when I got out and slipped back into my cozy warm clothes, I’d feel fantastic; refreshed, reinvigorated, alive! And I did. 

If only I always had this perspective. That yes, life can be painful, almost unbearable at times. It can numb your mind, cloud your reality. 

I realized I have two choices. One, I can sit by the edge and wait for the fog to clear.  And yes, the sun will eventually rise - as it always does and always will. After dark comes light, and then dark again. One can’t stay sad forever, nor can one stay happy forever. It’s just not possible. So when life’s miserable, don’t worry, it will be good again. When life is wonderful, be grateful and appreciate every moment, as it won’t always be. 

But then there is also a second option. Do I sit by the edge and wait, or do I dive in, dig deep, and bear with all the pain, the vulnerability, the struggle that comes with acknowledging and really processing all of it? All the sadness, anger, guilt, and anxiety, all the things that hide beneath the surface of my mind and heart?  

Because it is by doing this, and only by doing this, that we come up for air transformed, cleansed… inspired! The veil is lifted and we are filled with the knowledge that what is always existing unchanged within is Spirit, which remains connected with those who have gone from our physical world. I can see with new eyes, feel with a new body, and love with a whole heart, and yet my love for Landon will never diminish.

"Grief is when the veil between self and spirit is the thinnest" - Antonio Sausys

This morning I woke up with the inexplicable urge to get up and greet the sunrise. I walked down the hill to the lake where a thick fog was just beginning to lift. The sun was persisting to break through, it’s light reflecting off the cloud-like haze that blanketed the water. Ever since I was a kid I loved to swim, so I got down to my underwear and jumped right in. It was cold. That brain-freeze cold, take-your-breath-away cold that numbs your body. I dove under and swam around for awhile, bearing the intensity of the sensations. Not because I’m crazy or enjoy pain. But because I knew when I got out and slipped back into my cozy warm clothes, I’d feel fantastic; refreshed, reinvigorated, alive! And I did.

If only I always had this perspective. That yes, life can be painful, almost unbearable at times. It can numb your mind, cloud your reality.

I realized I have two choices. One, I can sit by the edge and wait for the fog to clear. And yes, the sun will eventually rise - as it always does and always will. After dark comes light, and then dark again. One can’t stay sad forever, nor can one stay happy forever. It’s just not possible. So when life’s miserable, don’t worry, it will be good again. When life is wonderful, be grateful and appreciate every moment, as it won’t always be.

But then there is also a second option. Do I sit by the edge and wait, or do I dive in, dig deep, and bear with all the pain, the vulnerability, the struggle that comes with acknowledging and really processing all of it? All the sadness, anger, guilt, and anxiety, all the things that hide beneath the surface of my mind and heart?

Because it is by doing this, and only by doing this, that we come up for air transformed, cleansed… inspired! The veil is lifted and we are filled with the knowledge that what is always existing unchanged within is Spirit, which remains connected with those who have gone from our physical world. I can see with new eyes, feel with a new body, and love with a whole heart, and yet my love for Landon will never diminish.

"Grief is the most untapped source of self knowledge" - Lyn Prashant 

One of the things that I’ve realized this week is that there were many “secondary losses” that resulted from losing Landon. I lost my unscarred body, trust in myself, and my dream of the perfect birthing experience - things that previously felt undeserving of my grief.
Even more than this, Landon’s death affected me on a deeper level, beyond what I was able to understand until now. It occurred to me today that for much of life I never really felt good in my own skin. I was taught from a young age: “get off your high horse” and “don’t get full of yourself”. It felt shameful to feel beautiful, intelligent, radiant.

Until Landon. Being pregnant was the first time in my whole life I truly loved who I was. I’d stand in front of the mirror every morning and admire my growing belly. I developed a healthy relationship with food. He made me feel beautiful. He made me feel purposeful. He lit me up, from the inside. It seemed too good to be true. 

When Landon died, my sense of self worth died with him. It was like a slap in the face; an “I told you so”. In some deep place I hadn’t yet dared to go, it evoked a feeling of “I am not deserving”. A question of “What was I thinking, that I could have it all?” All irrational, of course, but that is the nature of the mind when grieving - we do not think clearly.

Interestingly, this revelation came to me while practicing Tratak, a yogic cleansing technique for the mind that affects the pineal gland through the optic nerves, as well as Anja chakra, the “third eye” or “wisdom” chakra.

Things are becoming more clear, now. It is as if I’m scrubbing away layers of dirt - anger, resentment, guilt, fear - to encounter, with pristine clarity, what is really the essence, or “gem”, of this loss: Who am I? Not the me I thought I was, or the me I was told I was - Who am I? And how am I going to embark on a new life, a better life, now that my loss has dismantled my old?

As Antonio said today: “You have a kitchen with tiny windows and no ventilation, and it burns to the ground… Are you going to rebuild the exact same kitchen? Or one with plenty of big windows?

"Grief is the most untapped source of self knowledge" - Lyn Prashant

One of the things that I’ve realized this week is that there were many “secondary losses” that resulted from losing Landon. I lost my unscarred body, trust in myself, and my dream of the perfect birthing experience - things that previously felt undeserving of my grief.

Even more than this, Landon’s death affected me on a deeper level, beyond what I was able to understand until now. It occurred to me today that for much of life I never really felt good in my own skin. I was taught from a young age: “get off your high horse” and “don’t get full of yourself”. It felt shameful to feel beautiful, intelligent, radiant.

Until Landon. Being pregnant was the first time in my whole life I truly loved who I was. I’d stand in front of the mirror every morning and admire my growing belly. I developed a healthy relationship with food. He made me feel beautiful. He made me feel purposeful. He lit me up, from the inside. It seemed too good to be true.

When Landon died, my sense of self worth died with him. It was like a slap in the face; an “I told you so”. In some deep place I hadn’t yet dared to go, it evoked a feeling of “I am not deserving”. A question of “What was I thinking, that I could have it all?” All irrational, of course, but that is the nature of the mind when grieving - we do not think clearly.

Interestingly, this revelation came to me while practicing Tratak, a yogic cleansing technique for the mind that affects the pineal gland through the optic nerves, as well as Anja chakra, the “third eye” or “wisdom” chakra.

Things are becoming more clear, now. It is as if I’m scrubbing away layers of dirt - anger, resentment, guilt, fear - to encounter, with pristine clarity, what is really the essence, or “gem”, of this loss: Who am I? Not the me I thought I was, or the me I was told I was - Who am I? And how am I going to embark on a new life, a better life, now that my loss has dismantled my old?

As Antonio said today: “You have a kitchen with tiny windows and no ventilation, and it burns to the ground… Are you going to rebuild the exact same kitchen? Or one with plenty of big windows?