Retreat: Day 3

After the rain.

I woke to a chilly, blue sky morning. The kind of morning that makes you want to get outside as soon as possible. Up and  showered, I made my way to the sanctuary with another morning of wet hair (no hair dryers permitted). I threw on my black hoodie sweatshirt, and took the quiet walk out the door for our first sitting.

The quiet started to feel comforting. Easeful. I was feeling at home.

After breakfast, I took a walk down the long gravel road I drove in on. The sun felt warm on my back and it began to feel like a warm hug. I became annoyed by the sound of the rocks under my feet, each step making a sound. So, I walked just on the edge so my shoes touched the soft grass. I needed more silence. I stood facing the sun, letting all the warmth cover my face. I just wanted to stay. I then realized there was a basketball court right in front of me - in full sun. I walked over, and laid down. Arms wide, like a giant starfish. I laid there. I laid there for 40 minutes. Ease came over me. This place… not just where I was, but this place of silence, brought deep listening. There was something inside me that was transforming. I laid there in a meditative state, watching my breath, sensing who I was and what I was letting go of. It was during this time I became overwhelmed with JOY! I don’t know why. It just washed over me.

Let me pause for a moment and tell you that there is a hiking path on the property. It is well marked with red markers on the trees. I thought about walking into the woods on day 2, but was somewhat nervous. I was alone. There are bears. I was unsure. I only got as far as the first bridge on day 2. There I sat for sometime watching the brook. Listening to the song of the woods. Birds. Water. Wind. But that was as far as I went.

Laying on the asphalt, I heard the sound of the bell, signaling us to start making our way back to the sanctuary for the next silent meditation. I reluctantly got up and started to make my way. I didn’t want to go into the sanctuary. My body felt light. I felt different. I felt young.

As I approached the sanctuary, I slowed down momentarily. Then…

I walked into the woods.

On the trail, I was all alone. It was the most beautiful hike in the woods I’ve ever experienced. My steps were light, everything looked bright and alive. I was afraid of nothing. Mesmerized by how I felt, what I saw. The beauty all around me. The brook followed me the entire way. After about an hour, I came across a second bridge. There, I sat for a long while (I think maybe an hour or so). Alone in the forest, among the trees. The silence. I didn’t want to leave.

I couldn’t get the smile off my face. I had let go enough to feel something again. To feel myself again. I didn’t know really what I was going to do with that, or how long it would last, but there was a shift. A big shift.

I returned in time for lunch. Then, more emotions came up. Another layer rising to the surface of my heart. I realized I had more that needed releasing. I felt tight and overwhelmed regarding other relationships of mine. My meditation brought up feelings that had been overlooked, pushed down, dismissed. Allowing whatever to arrive in the moment without making excuses or being pulled by life’s demands gave me the space to sit with it. With all of it.

My internal dialogue went from, “what’s here?”  - to - “what is clear?”. Over and over and over. Like a new mantra, I repeated these words. “What is clear?”

It is said that thoughts, feelings, emotions we experience settle into the body. Once there, if not processed will sit dormant until they move through you again to be release. In Buddhist tradition these are called samskaras. It’s like leaving an imprint on our hearts. All our choices, interactions with others, thoughts, intent, karma. These build up inside. Mine had built a wall.

These can be hard to release. They hurt going in - they hurt going out. I had to give myself permission to feel all the feelings.

Everything was rising to the surface.

Release was occurring.

It doesn’t all happen at once. Time and returning to my meditation seat, over and over and over, to let it all unravel was my path forward.

Next week, I tell you how my unexpected return to the woods brought my deepest peace.

May you be well. May you be safe. May you be happy.

All my love for you,

Allie XO

Retreat: Day 2

As I made my way to breakfast the first morning, I felt uneasy with the silence I was experiencing. It felt odd sharing a room with of others, strangers, and not talking. Quietly moving. Not a “thank you” or “excuse me”. Not even a smile, as we were asked to just remain with ourselves.

It’s goes against our nature to ignore others. I see others. I’ve taught myself to take notice and acknowledge others for the whole person they are. But see… this is where I’ve come to learn that I’ve also put myself last. Squeezing my own desires, self love and self compassion into a box I couldn’t even find anymore.

The day unfolded in ways I would have not predicted. The rain came in sometime after lunch and continued throughout the day and night. It poured. Now the distraction of being able to enjoy nature was snuffed out. I had to sit. I sat for hours. l learn to listen to my breath. Each inhalation offering something new, getting out of my own way. Allowing. No more hiding from myself.

The guided meditation from my teacher that afternoon broke me into pieces. Slowly bits of me began to fall off, leaving me feeling raw and undone. Going silent allowed me to finally be with myself, facing what I’ve been pushing down, covering up and flat out ignoring. By mid day, I now had more questions then I came with. I had feelings I couldn’t push away anymore, tightness in my chest and throat and I needed a little guidance.

To my delight, a quick note to my teacher left on the bulletin board resulted in a fifteen minute meeting. It was just what I needed. I asked my teacher if she could give me a mantra to work with. A repetition of a word or phrase to work through my heart.

After our chat, she gave me:

“I give myself permission to grieve.”

Words that have more then one meaning, I came to realize.

Grief arrived in waves that swallowed me up. The grief of my father-n-law. Will people forget about when I’m gone? What will fall away? The grief of the way I thought my life would look with my own children, my expectations, dreams, friends that disappointed me. I’ve disappointed myself. My aging parents. The list goes on.

Grief is internal.

And it’s not linear. It’s more like a Dr. Seuss staircase of ups and downs with spirals and trap doors. And doing something without your loved one is just a reminder, again, that life has changed and it hurts.

My heart had been open to others, maybe too open …but not to myself. I lost self compassion in my own heart. I lost my joy.

I sat and sobbed throughout the silent meditations. Sharing space with others, some whom also let the tears flow. We are the walking wounded, with injury of a life that has left scars.

Yet, Rumi says, “scars is where the light enters.”

How beautiful a picture that is.

How is it that some of us loose who we are? Numbing and covering over, trying to prove our worth? Running from grief and fear? Not giving ourselves permission to pause, to feel.

At the end of the day, the guided meditation from my teacher invited in a deep sense of self love and care that I hadn’t felt in a long while. She asked us to think of  someone who offers unconditional love. That could be a loved one, friend (past or still here on earth), spirit or devoted one. I thought of Jesus. She asked us to imagine them sitting with us during the meditation. But I felt Jesus kneeling at my feet, holding my hands. Right there. There He was. Asking me to trust Him, telling me that this is what real trust looks like and feels like. Trust I thought I had turned over - I was wrong.

I softened the edges of the tightness I felt in my chest. I allowed myself to sit with it, feel for as long as I needed to. I put my hand on my heart and asked myself again and again and again, “what is here?”

I went to bed feeling heavy. Then… everything changed on day 3.

Until next week…

May you be well. May you be safe. May you be happy.

〰️

May you be well. May you be safe. May you be happy. 〰️

All my love for you,

Allie XO

Grief and It’s Unfolding

Grief. It’s more than you think.

I’m coming off of a five day silent Vipassana (an ancient mindfulness meditation technique meaning “to see things as they really are”) retreat. So, please bare with me, as I openly download.

In the next five posts I’ll be sharing the unfolding and the unraveling of my own heart. I’m doing this both for myself and for others to know that healing and shedding, truly does exist - just when we thought we’ve reached our end.

Getting to this retreat was not easy. I don’t mean the drive or the packing. I mean finding it and signing up for it. The retreat I originally signed up for was an online retreat. I thought that was going to be the easiest and most efficient way to “check the box” for my Mindfulness Meditation Training Program with Tara Brock and Jack Kornfield.

Then my father-in-law died 2 days before the online retreat.

I took some time off and then began to search out another online offering. There were none listed. I was graciously extended a deadline until June to have this complete. However, all my avenues had roadblocks (for many different reasons). At 1am, after searching and loads of frustration, I took one final look online and up pops this retreat. I grabbed my spot and figured I’ll iron out everything the next day.

This particular weekend was already full with other plans. But, my business partner in my Yoga teacher training program extended her loving hand once again and bowed to my ever disrupted year, and took the reins while I packed my bags, my car, my expectations and my curiosity for five days in West Virginia.

Let me stop here and say that I have not put myself out there for anything on my own in quit this way for some time. Taking care of others has been my personal motto for years. This felt both glorious and selfish…and that was the exact recipe needed for finding myself again.

I knew not a soul as I walked in to introduces myself. Not a problem for me, this part I’ve mastered in my life. This is all part of learning to walk into new situations, which I’ve done for a good part of my life. Moving 14 times in 30 years will create that in you (more on that later). I was welcomed with the warmest hearts and kindest souls. I felt both at home and like a stranger at the same time time. Wonderment is a word that comes to mind.

I took the fourth and final bed in my shared room, did a little unpacking, then headed to the dining hall for dinner. I needed to bring all my own meals, for allergy reasons, so I felt a bit out of the norm already even as I tried to settle in. There was beautiful dinner conversation around the table with 5 lovely women whom in the days to come, would sit in the sanctuary with me as I wept and shed off layers of my past, my conditioning and the grip I’ve tried to have on my life.

To my surprise, there were about 60 of us in total. All ages, men and women. All with stories, all with the unknown of the next days ahead.

I watched others as we made our way to the sanctuary hall to be welcomed. How people moved, carried themselves. Many mindfully aware of both others and the space they took up in this world. Others a little less aware. Our teacher laid out the logistics, gave a dharma talk, and led a meditation. Then in silence, as we would be for the next four days, we made our way to our rooms for the night. I was exhausted. I slept like a rock.

But that is just the beginning. What transpired over the next several days, became life changing. My faith deepened. My heart opened, I found joy, and more than I ever imagined.

I’ll share day 2 next week. Until then dear one…

May you be well.

May you be safe.

May you be happy.

All my love for you,

Allie XO

Running With Scissors

“I often times struggle with being patient, seeking perspective and enduring. I have rushed forward without much awareness… to fix or at least make better. Slowly I am putting the scissors down and standing still - then moving with lovingkindness.”

Running with scissors.

Something my parents always taught me NOT to do. “You’ll hurt yourself.” Was the common reasoning. It makes sense, of course. Sharp objects flying around in haste and hurry. We are taught at an early age how to protect ourselves.

What I later learned in life, is that running with scissors also harms others. It’s tragic for all involved, really. You see, scissors are a wonderful tool to cut away. A instrument for removing the “thing” that you don’t want. Separate that which is not meant to be there. Or to divide in two. But, to be running forward, or in many cases…running in circles, not only can you harm yourself in the process, but often you hurt those around you as well.

I often times struggle with being patient, seeking perspective and enduring. In the past, I have easily rushed forward without much awareness… to fix or at least make better. Slowly I’ve learned to put the scissors down and stand still - then move with lovingkindness.

Over the last several years, I’ve seen this happen in my life. I became acutely aware that my response to mend, patch, fix…was not as productive as I’d hoped for. I needed to take a step back. This has taken a lot of self control. Fear and anger can cause you to not think clearly. This I’ve known well.

I’m at the beginning of a two year journey of mindfulness training. A program designed to help bring me even closer to self awareness, deeply connect to the present and discover the awakening of my own heart. In return, my heart mends and my prayer is the world around me will heal a little as well.

Slow down, take a breath.

This is the practice of noticing not just what you feel, but where you feel it. Have deep compassion for yourself. You’ve come a long way, baby!

So, stop. Put the scissors down (slowly) and take a breath. Practice not running to fix misunderstandings, the scuffs on the floor, conflicts, the zipper, the broken relationship, all the things. Pause to notice how you feel. Out of control? Okay. You are allowed to feel that way. And when the time is right, when you’ve found clear understanding of the present moment - move again, with ease, with love and with compassion.

Having A Routine

We all have routines. Sometimes we don’t recognize them, but we’ve created habits that are a part of who we are. Often times, these show up in big, beautiful and generous ways.

For years, my morning routine has been a grounding and vital aspect of my life. As I make my way down the wooden staircase for my first cup of coffee, relishing the quietness of the house, I make my way to my library. This is my favorite room durning the colder months. The leather furniture is arranged for intimate conversations, while the bookshelves, filled with volumes of wonder and knowledge, invite quiet reflection and learning.

This is where I sit. A stack of books by my side, my journal and my warm cup of coffee.

There is something so special about the way the soft sunrise welcomes me here. It’s as if the morning is asking me to show up quietly and purposefully.

It’s during this time I love to be alone. First with my thoughts, then in prayer and writing. It’s here where my heart can feel heavy and feel full. This is where my tears flow, my aha moments happen and excitement is born. Over the years, this routine has helped me navigate the challenges of my life. Through reflection and listening to my own heart, I’ve created a place to grow. And often times, just learn to move forward.

This is where I see God show up.

So, I give myself a moment. After that, the day can come as it will. I know my day may be hijacked, or busy, or unexpected. But that becomes easier to move through if I’ve had a chance to tend to my heart.

I must say, it didn’t always look this way. When I was raising my boys - my mornings looked like packing lunches, school drop off’s and running errands. Back then, I learned to show up for myself in other ways. Mostly with mid day or evening walks. I found I enjoyed being alone, even for a little while.

I hope you are giving yourself a moment too. It’s okay to create space to fill up, figure life out and settle into the stillness of your own heart. You’ll be back in the flow when you are done, ready for the beautiful or messy life that awaits you. Hopefully a little more grounded.

The Return Home

A Journey Back To Myself

I have spent the last several years searching for what is next for me on my personal path. From retreats in the mountains, to in person teachings, virtual learning, diving into books and listening to podcasts just to name a few.

I’ve struggled, I soared. I’ve sat with what I know and I’ve doubted everything in me.

This is my journey. Sitting in a hospital room with my mom, on the heels of my father-in-law’s death. This is my journey back to my true self - one moment at a time. One breath at a time.

It’s been a roller coaster of a ride solving one problem after another. Don’t we all feel that way sometimes? A season. But I think the truth is we are all in ruts and valleys and standing on mountain tops at different times in our lives. It ebbs and flows. Much like the river. Cutting through the dirt and mud and rock.

Grief is teaching me a lot.

How to process my holding… and my tears, to what happens in my body when I struggle to keep it together. FYI, keeping it together is not the goal. Processing grief through tears and silence and stumbling up and down the spiral staircase that it truly is, is a more honest reality.

I’ve never wanted such a soft heart. My hope as a Navy wife was that I would be strong. Stand with strength and courage. I needed to “hold down the fort”, so to say. I didn’t have the luxury of falling apart.

I married my best friend just 66 days after turning 20 years old. Crazy, right! But we were going to do this life together and so we just needed to get going on it. And in those years, I was asked to grow up quickly and figure it out. My new motto became “sink or swim.”

I lost my softness.

I was tough. I could move my family across the country and back again. Find new schools, rip my child out of one and put them in another. I could find new doctors, spend holidays alone and be my children’s guide and hope of teaching them that they too are strong and able.

So here I am. Raw and soft… and I’m working on accepting my tender heart. Because it wants me to learn from it. Perhaps the world needs it. I’m not sure, but I’m leaning into what this heart is going to teach me this year.

I’ll take you on this journey with me. I hope we learn together. Maybe you’ll relate. Maybe you’ll grow. I think I will. For the seeds we plant will find it’s way through the dirt and muck. And in God’s perfect timing we will flourish.

Join the conversation….