Full Moon in Scorpio
Friday May 1st, 1:23 pm
For this Full Moon in Scorpio (tomorrow) I’m sharing a poem about grief-loss-intimacy-death etc..
I’ve been reading this book by David Richo lately called “when the past is present; Healing the emotional wounds that sabotage our relationships” a book about transference and counter transference etc. Highly recommend! I really appreciate the buddhist notions that he weaves into his work. Also that he describes what grief work actually is…which satisfied me because I feel like I have in fact moved through the steps he outlined haphazardly though I’m sure there is no one “right” way in reality.
It’s a winding path.
He outlines the practice of how to Grieve and Let go in the following passage:
"Grief work involves the same four steps we have mentioned above regarding working through any psychological issue: we address, process, resolve and integrate. We address by noticing and naming what grieves us. We process by expressing our feelings. We resolve by letting go. We integrate by moving on into relationships that are not so projection or transference laden.
Grief is irreversable. We cannot cancel or change it, yet we try. This is not unhealthy, since we are actually thereby respecting our own capacity for grief. We have to let it come through in its own way and time. This may mean that we avoid it for a while, let it in little by little, or even attempt to deny it. We have to be kind to ourselves in our grief, letting it take the lead, not forcing ourselves into a program meant to release it as soon as possible.
In this practice we look at our feelings and then at the inner shifts that help us to let go and go on. As you read through the following reflections on grief and grief work, see what connections you can make with your own life. If a particular paragraph resonates with you stop to journal your reactions and reflections.
Grief is composed of three feelings:
- Sadness that something was lost.
- Anger that it was taken away.
- Fear that it will never be replaced.
These three feelings can be experienced simultaneously or in any order"............ and another part I found helpful was when he shared that "the challenge is to experience all three feelings of grief without blame, grudge, or grievance". Damn, a tall order, I've definitely failed at this but it's a helpful reminder that this is possible and a goal to reach, with dips and valleys I'm sure.
He outlines that "sadness that is free of blame can help us contact our tender vulnerability as something to be appreciated, as a positive sign of our capacity for love and openness. The negative unhealthy vulnerability brings the sense of being victimized.
Anger becomes useful when it prompts us to become strong enough to break through our fear or when it helps us gain distance from an abuser. It counterbalances the sadness so that we can speak up to abuse or hurt.
Fear can be used positively as a warning signal of danger rather than as an inhibiting or compelling force. Notice that the fear that what we missed will never be replaced also gives us a clue: we may have entered a relationship with the expectation that a partner will provide proper and full replacement of what we long for or lost, even though he/she/they is not aware of what that might be.
As we express our feelings and let go, we gradually forgive ourselves and others and can get on with life. This happens because our opening to grief, paradoxically, leads to self comforting. That stabilizes us and we can finally say yes to a world that is bound to deal us gains and losses."
His words and wisdom's are such medicine to me. Truly this whole journey which doesn't always involve the trees has been a healing process for me through my grief, so thank you to anyone reading through these posts for coming along for the ride with me in my grief work.
Anyhow, I wrote this poem to Amara before they died in spring of 2022. I was grappling then with how to say goodbye in the context I was in. For me it was a goodbye I had been already feeling and processing for quite a while before they actually died. In some ways I still am processing it all, though maybe more so integrating.
I’ve always felt a little unsure about the concept of closure.. I don’t really feel like there’s a tidy way to wrap things up, or for anything or anyone to truly end. What resonates more deeply with me is that everything changes shape, transforms and becomes something new, again
and again.
It was April or so when I wrote this poem after a solitary stroll through Kains Woods, or maybe a few separate walks melded into one. I had come across some reishi mushrooms and some bee hive remnants that had maybe washed ashore with the melting of spring which made me feel linked to Amara in some way as they had recently sent me pics of some honey combs they had found in the hollow of a tree out west.
Maybe this was the beginning of reaching for them through symbology in a spiritual sense, looking to nature for some way to feel connected across great distances. Like a portal of meaning.
Though I know it’s maybe more accurate to say that the universe is impersonal, fleeting and impermanent. I also had a practice then of picking up sticks and naming each one someone I loved and then reminding myself I will lose them too and throwing them one by one into the river, over and over again. I think this is a good Buddhist practice, of letting go and none attachment, a real relentless lesson of this lifetime, of every lifetime. What a trip it is to love and live knowing we will lose everything and everyone eventually. Puts a lot in perspective.
Amara and I had had a romantic friendship in my opinion, platonic but no less partner-y in some ways. I really miss so much the emotional intimacy we shared. Nothing quite compares. I wish I could share about this book with them because they would have really loved it. We had both read a few of his books in the past.
Aside from this poem (which follows no real format), I’ve written Amara a few letters, one really sincere apology letter and another really unhinged angry letter (grief work). Word is from the spiritualist church that they actually listened/read my letters before I set them ablaze on the solstice, so I’m sure they’ve heard this poem too and maybe they do share in reading good books with me sometimes. Who knows. I hope that’s a real possibility on the other side.
Here’s the poem.. and truly I’m still praying for the kind of love I spoke of ~ for both of us and for everyone. Sometimes we put the best of intentions into art and poetry and what transpires in reality isn’t always as we had hoped but re-reading this poem is always a good reminder to me. An anchor of sorts. A sentiment to keep steeping myself in over time. ……………….. ……. ……. ….. ……… ……………
A bed of pines covers the ground after winters end.
It’s the little things
that speak to me.
The smell of honey left behind in the remnants of a hive,
washed ashore by the rivers
expanding
and receding
with the changing of seasons.
The melting of spring
floods us all in some way.
It softens me
and these hard edges
I’ve mistaken
as my protection
again.
On this forest floor there is
simplicity and a silence that holds space for me to breathe.
the leaves become Earth and you become a distant memory of both romance and difficulty.
the suffering of things
Like darkness and beauty intertwined as the night sky, existing independent of me and anything I might try to conjure up about it.
It’s maybe wiser to just look up in wonder at the things we can’t grasp
I know you best - in my own heart
and this is how I choose to carry you forward.
to let go of fear and confusion, to surrender to what’s not in my control and to move more towards a love that can hold me through this experience of losing you in this way.
It’s not a lover I want but the kind of love that nothing can strip me of.
I pray for this strength in me.
and in you.
I pray for your soft landing wherever you’re headed on this next stretch of your journey . Whether to the womb of another mother or to the land in my dreams with beings of light or onwards in this life as the miracle that you are -
any which way you turn.
I know or at least I hope that we will meet again in countless ways,
in a million lives.
Maybe you are bound to end up in my arms as a child or a lover or a tiny sparrow fallen from its nest
and into my hands.
I want to carry you lightly like that.
I love you and miss you but you’re always with me.
Like waves parting but always contained by the ocean of things we belong to,
that come and go
and continue to be ..
but it’s not without grief
You’ve seasoned me
in ways I can’t name.
taught me critical life lessons
unknowingly
unfolding like this quiet
moment
that I’m still learning
to sink into.
my own embodied experience.
To stop panicking.
To be still in this mess of life and death and all of its tragic-ness.
To be present with it and let it move through me. fully. and completely.
To trust that
there’s no one to blame.
Not my will, but thine, the creators.
To stop trying to make sense of all the things that we just can’t. It’s too intricate, too wild and ethereal to grasp.
There is healing I find in just letting things be. In finding that still point of peace inside of me that nothing can touch but my own inner being.
Thank you for the depths we’ve shared over the years and for all of the love underneath all the layers of things that got in the way of our intimacy.
Im sorry for the ways I moved through things imperfectly. I am still learning and fumbling my way through this place.
I am thankful there are so many doorways.
I love you and miss you so much
infinitely.
Love Nat
ps. The gratitude about doorways was a reference to a passage that I shared with Amara from the book "Living Buddha, Living Christ by Thich Nhat Hanh entitled "more doors for future generations".
Here is the passage below for anyone interested:















