Heading to the coast a week ago for my women spiritual group‘s annual two-day retreat—albeit virtual this year—and coming up on our COVID-19 anniversary, I reflected a lot on the last year.
I packed everything that needed to be released to make way for new life.
To seal the intention of adaptability.
Because this is what happens during the winter—the last season of the natural year—to make way for the next cycle of growth.
But, what needed to be released this winter, this retreat—and especially this year—in order to create more space for healing? For moving forward, into the future?
The short answer: Everything. But how?
I carried this immense question and a piece of very expensive chocolate with me to the edge of the foamy waves that Saturday morning. I stayed an extra second at the cusp of wet sand and nearly wet running shoes as I tossed my chocolate offering to Grandmother Ocean.
My heartfelt ask: Show me the way.
Her answer? The rest of the day.
After running on the beach and a hot shower, I returned to meditate thoughtlessly beside the waves. From the far end of the beach, Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain beckoned. And so I drove to the trailhead. Traveling swiftly up and down the steep trail, I only rested at the top long enough to take my favorite feet-seascape-and-horizon photo and a sip of water. When a snowflake hit my face, I stayed an extra second in surprise and delight at the cusp of winter and nearly spring weather. Then, back to the ocean, this time for a full plunge into her salty embrace. The truth washing over me, seeping into my pores and sticking to my hair like the salt.
Just like the tides and cycles of the moon, just like our body’s allostasis, just like a nurse log’s decomposition, just like the seasons of the year. Healing is a process.
Healing is a process of becoming whole again. A series of stages or steps. This we know:
- Shock Stage: Triage
- Immobility Stage: Protection
- Growth Stage: Rebuilding
- Mobility Stage: Recovery
And yet, is that true?
Rebuilding: from a broken to a fixed place. From a divided to an integrated place. Either way, things returning “back to the way they were.” But, that way doesn’t exist anymore.
Something my Dad said decades ago—a lesson shared from observing my Mom’s experiences for 33 years—filed neatly into a folder for truths I couldn’t yet grasp, until now. Retrieved last Saturday somewhere between sea level and summit, during a day of simply being one with nature, with my own nature:
“Stop focusing on what you don’t want to be. Focus on what you DO want to be…what you are.”
That was it. Not rebuilding, just building.
Later that evening, as the orange flames of our campfire illuminated the dark sands and far off horizon of the low tide, I realized:
- I had not reflected on any of the retreat session questions,
- I had not organized my thoughts into reasoning,
- I had not written anything in my retreat journal,
- I had not sought advice in the counsel of others,
and yet I had the answer I needed.
Just like healing, retreat is a process. Unlike healing, retreat often feels too nourishing to conclude. But, the power of retreat is in the promise of return.
The promise of building, of becoming.
May you know what you already know this week.
Love,
Jules
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