Not this, and yes, this.

There is still anger where the grief has dug it’s hole. Sometimes the anger feels sharp and tastes bitter, metallic in my mouth. Sometimes it’s a softer hurt, the sadness of something, someone lost. The grief of “not this”, what was , what could have been , and the fear that I won’t find “this”-- the landing in the livelihood, the path toward it, the person, the home. 

The not this, oh yes this. 

Maybe the “not this” has also been a not this part of me, not that part, only these are the sides you can show. But fuck it. 

This is me. 

14 years on the path of inner discovery, knowing, unknowing, unlearning: yoga, therapy, meditation, acupuncture, craniosacral, plant medicine-- ALL the things. I think there’s a point where we land in the not this, AND yes this.
This person isn’t for me, and part of them was. This non-profit project wasn’t a yes, and part of it was. This part of myself is shifting and changing to adapt to this me. And i have to say yes to this me, here and now. Because otherwise i continue to reject and discard parts of myself along with the external someone or thing that’s the “not this”. 

There is still fear where the grief has dug it’s hole. And there is still love, a deep well of it. When the mud begins to dry and the water to evaporate i dig deeper. There’s a whole mycelial network of nutrient-dense fungus beneath and below the mud. When I can cut through and brave sinking deeper than the layer of mud, i can drink from the layer of the humus, the deep rich earth. And I can be quenched, even if just for a passing moment. 

There is still grief

But it doesn’t grab hold of me and sweep me under it’s opaquity

It pings me, it reminds me that where I am now is shaped by where I was.

The sorrow and despair of love lost and a dream lost brings me into more wholeness and the holiness of now. 

The edges have softened, now billowy, breathable, even translucent at times. 

It defines some of my edges and humbles me.

When I begin to float in the ethereal, it reminds me to plant my feet on the ground,

And then look up and expand.