Welcome to this meditation for something that was here.
This is a meditation for those carrying grief,
Whether fresh or long-held.
Come just as you are.
You don't need to be calm to begin this.
You don't need to have anything together.
You don't need to be anywhere other than exactly where you are right now.
Find a position where you can be still for a little while,
Sitting or lying down,
Whatever your body needs.
And take one breath,
Just one to begin,
In through the nose and out through the mouth.
Grief is one of the most ancient human experiences.
Every single person who has ever lived has known it in some form,
And yet,
When it arrives,
It feels completely singular,
Like nobody else could possibly know how this particular loss sits in you.
Both things are true.
In astrology,
Grief lives in the moon.
The moon governs our emotional memories,
Our attachments,
The soft and tender places we keep inside.
The moon also governs cycles.
She waxes and wanes.
She disappears and returns.
She does not stay in any one phase,
And neither,
In time,
Does grief.
But right now,
We're not trying to move through it.
We're simply going to be with it,
To give it a little space,
To acknowledge that it is real and that it matters,
And you are allowed to feel it.
Place a hand on your heart,
If that feels right.
Feel the warmth of your own palm against your chest,
And feel the rise and fall of your breath beneath your hand.
This heart of yours has loved something.
That is why it aches.
Grief is the shape that love takes when what it loves is no longer where it was.
I want you to think very gently of what or who you are grieving.
You don't need to analyze it,
And you don't need to understand it.
Just let it be present with you for a moment.
Whatever or whoever you're grieving,
Let them come a little closer.
Notice where you feel it in your body.
Maybe in your chest,
Or an aching in your throat,
Your tummy,
Or behind your eyes,
Or maybe goosebumps rising everywhere.
Breathe into that place.
Not to fix it or dissolve it,
But just to say,
I see you.
I know you're there.
In the tarot,
The Hermit card holds a small lantern in the dark.
That lantern is the gift of grief.
It is the light of memory.
The love that refuses to be extinguished simply because the person,
Or the place,
Or the chapter,
Is gone.
Your grief is that lantern.
It means something was here,
Something real,
Something that shaped you,
And you are carrying the light of it forward,
Even now.
Take a slow breath in,
And as you breathe out,
If you need to make a sound,
A sigh or a cry,
Whatever wants to come,
Let it out.
Meditation can be quiet,
And it can contain noise.
It's a space for whatever you need it to be.
You're allowed to be sad,
And you're allowed to miss what's gone.
You're allowed to be angry,
Or numb,
Or both at once.
Grief is not linear.
It does not follow rules.
It will return when you least expect it,
Wearing different clothes,
Speaking in a different way.
But today,
In this moment,
You do not have to carry it alone.
Let the ground beneath you hold some of the weight.
Let the air around you hold some of the weight.
Let me hold your hand through the airwaves,
Just to be.
The moon in her cycles teaches us that darkness is never permanent.
She doesn't stay dark,
But she doesn't rush either.
She takes the full length of her cycle.
She doesn't skip the waning or the new moon phase because they're uncomfortable.
She lives them,
And then she grows again.
You're allowed to take your full cycle.
Place both hands over your heart now,
If you can,
And take a steady breath in,
And as you breathe out,
Offer yourself these words,
Either out loud or in your head.
I'm allowed to grieve.
My love was real.
I'm carrying the light of it with me.
Take a few more breaths here,
In your own time.
And when you're ready,
Very gently begin to come back to the room.
And wiggle your fingers and feel the surface beneath you.
And whenever you're ready,
Open your eyes.
Take care,
And blessed be.
