“Descent Into Grief”
“Descent Into Grief” - created June 21st, 2021
THE MANDALA PROJECT - How it came to life
If you know someone whose day would be brightened by this Mandala, please pass it along! Even more magical, with a love note from you!
The Mandala Project: #97
If you follow my blog, you know my last post (back in early May) was Mandala #40 so it’s a leap to Mandala #97. The ones between are making their way into the world, but this particular sage wanted to go now.
Chronological order has been rearranged by grief.
An hour before the vet’s arrival, amidst a day of ceremony and ritual spent calling in allies and preparing the field for Lily’s transition.
Lily-the-good, wing-girl, partner-in-mischief and my most treasured friend for 16 years, died on June 7th.
This red dog was a soul guide and an elder, so it came as no surprise that she moved through death with tremendous grace and peace, creating unmistakeable currents of mystery to track in her wake.
Her transition was one of the most sacred and transformative experiences of my life, and it has ignited wisdom from a wild and magical variety of sources, all of them guiding a path deeper into the heart of grief.
As I’ve felt into just exactly how to share this remarkable unfolding story, Mandala #97 along with a recent Conversation with Consciousness nominated themselves. “Just begin with us, right here in the middle.”
Trusting Darkness
“Descent into Grief” was created on the two-week anniversary of Lily’s departure as I was still feeling my way into the heartbreak of losing her, and it wasn’t until writing this post that I realized it was also created on the morning of the summer solstice.
Fascinating that this mandala, which was signifying the willingness to keep going deeper into loss, happened on the day of the year that we begin turning away from light and toward greater darkness.
It was built on one of Lily’s final pee spots in the yard, a patch of newly dead grass surrounded by fresh spring green and anchored at the top by the flower symbolizing something that is clearly dying, yet also vibrant and beautiful. Still present but indisputably leaving; echoing a message that keeps emerging—death does not exist outside of aliveness, but within the very heart of it.
As this mandala emerged I felt the grounding nature of the heart stones directing a path downward balanced by the presence of wings and feathers, a reminder to stay connected to lightness of being.
In her book “Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole”, Susan Cain shares this teaching from the Kabbalah, the mystical branch of Judaism:
“In the beginning all of creation was a vessel filled with Divine light. It broke apart and now the shards of holiness are strewn all around us.
Sometimes it’s too dark to see them, sometimes we're too distracted by pain or conflict, but our task is simple: to bend down, dig them out, pick them up, and in so doing—to perceive that light can emerge from darkness, death gives way to rebirth, and the soul descends to this riven world for the sake of learning how to ascend.”
I read this a couple of days ago and thought, …yes, that’s why representatives of winged-beings were essential in this mandala. What if grief is an invitation to free-fall into the realm of mystery and trust what it wants to reveal about the sacred relationship between death and life?
What if, instead of seeking to transcend pain, we choose to dive deeper, to explore the bigger truths that live beneath the surface of it? And to then rise from those depths, changed by what we find there.
Dialoguing with Mystery
Cue my recent conversation with Consciousness. If you haven’t heard me speak of these dialogues before, it’s a morning journalling practice that opens up a conversation with something beyond my own current understanding.
I express whatever is arising in the moment and receive some form of guidance/wisdom from an entity I call ‘Consciousness’ (because its the closest I can come to naming something unnameable).
The response is always something unexpected, a perspective or insight or question that I hadn’t considered.
This one emerged out of a wave of grief that rose up after I intentionally sought connection, answers, something that would ease my broken heart, and received no response.
(*My voice is in regular font and Consciousness’ responses are in blue.)
Dogs are magical beings.
It must be said.
Yes. It must.
Topic for today: Loneliness
Bring it.
A couple of nights ago—on the six week anniversary of Lily's departure—I set up the tent in the yard and slept outdoors. I held it as a ritual, a calling in. I asked the dream-maker, my soul, Lily, or any other helping spirits who wanted to show up, to share guidance or insight about the nature of our relationship now. Where was she exactly? What was she doing? What did she want me to know?
Nothing came in. No angels singing, no Lily wisdom, no spark of insight, no deep new understanding,
I went to sleep hoping for magic and woke up lonely. Sad, flat, isolated from connection.
What usually counters that feeling for me is meaning, which is what I was seeking. But because my ritual request seemed unanswered, there was no sense of meaning. Just more emptiness.
So my question is, when we feel that primal longing for wholeness and connection; especially when we feel it’s missing…how does meaning, or lack of it, come into play?
Start by letting go of what you think you know about meaning.
Meaning can be a doorway or an obstacle, but it is not "the thing". It is not wholeness and connection. And the absence of it is not the absence of these things.
What you are longing to know, to feel, to sense is always right here. The emptiness you feel is filled with aliveness.
Grief is calling you to come closer, to open your heart to a deeper awareness and perception of that which could never not be.
The challenge, the real challenge, is to find it where you think it isn't.
*Conversations With Consciousness: What exactly are they? Want to read more? The published ones live here.
"Earth Elder" - The Mandala Project: #41
Grief is becoming intimate with the immovable truth that we’re not meant to hold on to or possess that which we love.