On Grief & Griefwork

Grief reminds us that we are alive, with use of a heart that still feels.

Personally and collectively, the past few years have packed a real whollop where grief is concerned. We’ve experienced changes and losses a-plenty. Grief has been a regular visitor and a profound teacher in my own life.

Part of my intention in offering guided grief meditations stems from my deep longing for a communal grieving ritual. On the macro scale, as a Western culture, and as a human race, we haven’t yet had the opportunity the grieve together — to wail, rend garments, and unleash the torrent of tears sloshing around our collective consciousness.

We need and deserve that release and that reminder of our shared humanity — the threads of joy and pain that weave through us all and have the power to bring us closer together, closer to ourselves, and to what truly matters.

While I yearn for some form of massive, generative collective catharsis, what I bring in meditation is something sweeter, more gentle, yet just as potent. My hope is that you will connect deeply and honestly with yourself and what you value, and emerge feeling whole, rested, grounded, and excited for your life.

There is no cure for grief. That’s because grief is not an illness or a problem to fix. Your grief is a wild, sacred thing — an invitation to become more consciously whole.

Grief isn’t something we let go of, it’s not something we get over or conquer — it’s a living process that, when allowed to unfold, changes us forever. 

When that process is interrupted, it can have a hardening effect, creating a sense of tightness, stiffness, rigidity, stuckness, or gripping, throughout the physical, emotional, and mental bodies. And that’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay, and it’s never too late to grieve.

We don’t get to know how grief will transform us. All we’re asked to do is turn toward grief, rather than away from it, when it asks to be known, offering it our attention, curiosity, and a li'l bit of tenderness.

If you are actively grieving, please remember that there’s no right way to grieve and it takes the time it takes — your process is your own and unique to you. I wish you peace and courage and I hope you will bring your tender heart to this work to receive rest, nourishment, and an infusion of hopefulness.

If you sense that a grieving process has been interrupted in your own body or life, or that perhaps there is a backlog of grief waiting to be tended, I look forward to guiding you through the corridors of your bodymind to discover, reclaim, process, and praise what is most precious to you.

Showing up to grief work is incredibly courageous and I hope that you’ll open to the possibility that grief is not an enemy at the gates, but rather a guest knocking at your door, bearing a generous yet mysterious gift.