Planting Seeds - Fears and the Growing Darkness
How I'm connecting with my hand, head, and heart during this dark season to alchemize and release fear into something new when the sun re-emerges in the Spring.
Fears and the growing darkness. It’s October so I am planting and tending to spinach and kale in the greenhouse. Getting my hands in the dirt and nurturing new growth. Grounding me during the darkness.
The seasonal changes are all around. Falling leaves. Squirrels bustling around with nuts. Temperatures dropping. Geese migrating. Days getting shorter. I think a lot about the seasonal changes as well as the coming darkness, death, life, ancestors, and what I hope will be at the other end of the dark season.
This year I find myself pondering my journey with fear, especially the fear of death. When my father died I was convinced I had every illness imaginable. If I gained weight, it was surely because of a life threatening illness. If I lost weight, it too, was surely because of a life threatening illness. Fear of living and fear of dying. I didn’t know how to process his death in a healthy way. After two years of this cycle, I found yoga and things began to change.
I didn’t have the tools to process his death in a healthy way
Growing up I was acutely aware of death. My grandfather died in 1945 at the age of 55. My father was only 14 years old at the time. When I reached 14 years I was keenly aware that I was the same age my dad was when his father died. When I reached my 15th birthday I breathed a sigh of relief, my dad was still alive. My dad was 50 years old so I still had some time before he was the same age that his dad was at the time of his death. When my dad reached 55 years old I breathed another sigh of relief, we had made it - I was 20 years old and he was still alive. I knew my dad thought about his mortality, a lot. And, I knew he worried about dying young like his father. He rarely mentioned it but it was always omnipresent.
My dad had his first stroke 10 years later. It was followed by two more strokes, kidney failure, and total system failure. The saga lasted for four years. When his death finally arrived, there was as much a sense of relief for the end of his pain as there was grief in the loss of him in life. He made it to 66 years of age. I was 30.
I didn’t have the tools to process his death in a healthy way. All the deaths I had experienced previously had been grandparents I did not know well and a cousin I had only met a couple of times. Even my cat died while I was at college so I just came home one day and she wasn’t there. While I was always aware of death’s heavy weight on our family, it was never discussed. I had no elders whose experiences I could look to for guidance. I had no rituals to turn to help order the chaos I was feeling. I didn’t even know what the grief process looked like to me.
My immediate response to my father’s death was to shift back and forth from fear of illness to fear of health. My migraines became intense and frequent, my weight climbed higher than it had ever been, and my neck hurt most of the time. I pushed the people closest to me, the ones in the best position to support me, out of my life.
I knew I was out of kilter when I went to the doctor one month after my father’s funeral and for the first time in my life my blood pressure was elevated. (My father had always joked that I gave high blood pressure rather than have high blood pressure). I tried going to a support group entitled, Grief Support for Adult Children. I was the youngest and there was a friend of my mom’s in the group, so even though everything was confidential there was no way I was opening up about my feelings, thoughts, or questions.
Yoga had been tossing and turning in my mind for months. I don’t have any idea how it entered my thoughts but I kept finding myself thinking, “I need to try yoga.” No one I knew “did” yoga. No one around me was talking about yoga. Yet, somehow yoga was there, in my brain, bumping into other thoughts, and making itself known.
As part of her grief process, my mother was volunteering at the hospital where my father died. One day she came home with a flyer about a yoga program that was going to be held in the hospital. I recognized that it was time. The universe gives you what you need, when you need it. I conscripted my sister to go with me. That’s all it took, yoga has been deeply in both of our lives since then.
Leaving it all on the mat
My first yoga teacher adapted practices in Viniyoga/Kripalu traditions to create gentle yoga classes. As she specialized in chronic pain management and adapting yoga to suit each individual’s needs, she was the perfect first teacher. These classes were all about the physicality of yoga. While I learned the poses and grew in my knowledge of yoga as an activity, the most important thing I learned from her was to breathe into my body. When my father had his first stroke, I stopped going to the gym or pool so that I could visit him in the hospital. This is how it was for the next four years. Breath work and yoga helped me relax and re-connect with how my body moved and responded.
When her classes were finished, I moved on to Anusara yoga. These classes took the yoga postures and added the alignment of the heart, body, and mind. The overall goal: to open the heart and mind while sharpening the particularized knowledge of the practice. The sessions were in a vinyasa flow style where some asanas (Sanskrit for a “steady and comfortable posture”) were held for a longer time. This encourages the person to connect to their breath and their breath to the practice. There was a focus on breathing into the kidney loop, filling up the back of the heart, initiating shoulder loop, thigh loop, pelvic loop, ankle loop, and skull loop, hugging the core. It was this focus on heart, mind, and body that unlocked and began to move the stagnate energy I stored from my father’s death.
By focusing on these subtleties of breath and body, I learned to show up, be present, to soften, and slowly begin to open my heart. And, as a result, I began to feel spacious, at ease, connected to something larger than myself, and able to free my grief a little bit at a time. My favorite posture was Ardha Chandrasana, Half Moon. Even as I moved into the seventh month of pregnancy I found it to be freeing, balancing, and inspiring. The teacher would say, “If the pregnant lady wants to do Half Moon, we’re doing Half Moon.” It made me smile. I felt strong. Confident. A growing sense of peace. I would have stayed at this studio forever, except nothing is static in this amazing world. The studio closed and others studios came and went, but it wasn’t the same.
That is when I found my current teacher, Britt. Britt brings together love and devotion, joins them to the asanas, and then connects all of it back to living in the world. It’s yoga as life rather than yoga as exercise, stretching, or simply movement. Its the slow and still asana practices that unstick all that is not moving, that provide time to deeply breathe, notice, and feel. This is how I learned to leave it all on the mat.
Over time I realized that every thing I feel and experience comes in and through my body. In yoga, I allowed myself to let my emotions rise, to feel them, acknowledge them, and let them move throughout my practice. I gave myself permission to set an intention for each trip to the mat, and to revisit that intention at the end to see how it went. I still do this, so many years into my practice. Sometimes my intention is as simple as asking my body to “Tell me what I need to know today.” Some times it is more specific as “What is going on with my hips, what are the trying to tell me?” During the practice I listen, notice, and wonder. Now, when something is touched during practice, it comes out on the mat, one way or another.
Leaving it all on the mat looks different on different days. Sometimes it is writing in my journal, sometimes it is drawing, sometimes it is laying in Shavasana, Corpse Pose, a little bit longer, and sometimes it is tears, gasps, sighs. At all times it is a release. I am comfortable with this result now. I see it and understand it as opening, growing, remembering.
The mat is where I have left a lot of grief over the years. Loss of my father. Loss of my mother. Loss of my beloved dogs and cats. Loss of loves. Loss of trust. Loss of opportunities. It is also where I have looked closely at death to see it as an opening as well. I am now able to look at death and see it for what it is, part of the entire circle of breath. Part of the journey. I no longer see death as an end. A void. I no longer fear it. I respect it. I no longer run from it. I see it as something to sit with and be transformed by. I am certainly in no hurry to meet Death, but the fear has dissipated.
Evelyn De Morgan, Artist, Befriending Death
Last year I visited the Delaware Art Museum to see an exhibition on the works of Evelyn and William De Morgan. Evelyn was a pre-Raphaelite painter and I am absolutely drawn to the work of the Pre-Raphaelites. The Pre-Raphaelites often dealt with mythological and literary subjects, love and death as themes. They were committed to sincerity, simplicity, and nature, and they were rebels for their time! I was so excited to see this exhibit as it focused on Evelyn's and William's works and their relationship as husband and wife. I wasn’t expecting another lesson about befriending death.
The works were amazing but there was one that I couldn’t move beyond too quickly. I was transfixed. Riveted. The painting, The Angel of Death, 1880 by Evelyn de Morgan (1855-1919). Evelyn painted this when she was 25 years old. In this image, Death is a woman. Art scholars have suggested that Death is male or androgynous, but there is a body of scholarship that concurs that this image is female. Seeing it up close and in person, I clearly see a female - the long grey hair and the features. The human is reclining and Death is leaning in. It has been suggested that Death is comforting, blessing, or kissing her to aid in her transition.
Even the environment is depicted as alive on the side where Death stands. The landscape on the left, where the human sits is dry, barren and on the right where Death is it is lush, watered, fertile, beautiful flowers.
When Evelyn was about twelve years old she wrote a poem, titled the Angel of Death :
My love lies deep
Under the ground;
The winter winds
Blow cold around
The cypress tree
Is crowned with snow
Shrouded in white
The graves lie low,
Soft thy kisses
Warm thy breath
Vision of Love –
Angel of Death!
It seems to me that Evelyn was, like me, acutely aware of death. Evelyn lived through highly visible events in the United Kingdom. Events in which death had a heavy presence — Second Anglo-Boer War (1899-1902), the death of Queen Victoria (1901), the sinking of the RMS Titanic (1912), and World War I (1914-1918). So many of her paintings explore allegories of peace, transcendence, the journey of the soul, good and evil, and ultimate reality. She seems to have endeavored to befriended death and the mystical.
All of this makes me wonder, might there be another way of thinking about this painting? Could it be that Death is the younger woman’s older self? The hands, the cheek bones, the feet, are all so similar. It's as though she is looking into her own eyes. There’s a great peacefulness, comfort, companionship in this image.
Both 12 year old Evelyn and 25 year old Evelyn seem to have already understood that death is not something to be feared, it is something to welcome, it leads to something more. She seems to have maintained this belief throughout her life. Her joint headstone with her husband William states, “Sorrow is only of the Earth, the life of the spirit is joy.” (De Morgan Collection).
Death is always with me. Its a metaphor I carry close, especially during this season of darkness. What is dying away and what is emerging in its place? Its also something I carry as a reality. The loss of family and friends. They feel close during the dark, winter months. Its also personal. Each birthday brings an awareness of the closeness, of the possibility, of death greeting me. I would like to think that is a long way off, but one never knows.
Moving towards Halloween, All Souls Night, and Samhain, (the week of October 31st), my awareness of needing to go inside, ground to the Earth, be silent, explore mysteries, and work with my ancestors is strong. I feel the change in seasonal energy deeply. Candles are lit. Cinnamon + Sage + Ginger in the diffuser. The final effort to harvest herbs - sage, feverfew, parsley, peppermint, thyme, rosemary, marjoram - for use later in the winter. The saining bundle is made to bless the house with herbs from the garden. Bread making and baking in general becomes a weekly process.
This year I take with me into this dark season the fears that remain. I have already released the destructive fear of death but there are still fears to confront. I am planting seeds that fear will have been alchemized and released into something new when the sun re-emerges in the Spring.
Here’s how I am using my hand, head, and heart to support those efforts.
Hand — Yoga
Each day, after I meditate I do yoga. Actually, as my teacher says, “Yoga is what you are, not what you do.” I step onto my mat, move my body through asanas, and some things that do not look like asanas but still feel like sacred movement, and I leave it all on the mat. This season the intentions I bring to the mat are about fear. Which fears arise, which fears speak the loudest, which fears need to be breathed into something new. I remain open to hearing the messages and bringing them into the light.
There are so many resources for yoga on the web. A simple search is all it takes to find a studio close by to get started. If that is not an option or if you prefer going at it on your own, here are some resources:
My teacher, Britt Steele offers a live-stream class every Sunday from 9 - 10:30 am CST. It is a donation based class and Britt truly means donation. She never wants anyone to feel like they can’t come because they can’t afford it. Each class is recorded and stored in a private portal that can be accessed whenever you want, as many times as you want.
Asana Rebel is an app that provides a variety of practices in a variety of lengths, as well as meditation resources, recipes, articles, and playlists.
Head — Folklore
These dark months between Michaelmas and Candlemas are a time when there is so much rich folklore. The Cailleach begins to make her presence known as she ensures the arrival of winter. Kashubia is full of ghosts, demons, and scary stories. There are stories about St. Nicholas, Santa Lucia, Gwiôzdór and Gwiazdka, Berchta, Brigit, and so many more.
This year during these months I am looking to folklore to discover more about death from the perspective of my ancestors. I know I can never understand death completely, none of us ever can. What I can understand is how death has been approached in different times and different places, and then use that information to inform my own understanding and practices.
Using print and non-print resources I am exploring the Irish and the Kashubian traditions. These are two of my ancestral lines closest to the present and the two whose traditions I know the least about.
I began by listening to Mary McLaughlin (academic and singer: Daughter of Lir, 1997; Celtic Requiem,1998; Sacred Days Mythic Ways, 2012 ) discuss keening (Caoine or Caoineadh na Marbh) in the Irish tradition. Keening, the Irish funeral lament, is something I have been curious about but knew very little about it. I thought keening was an emotional release of grief, wailing, but figured there had to be more to it. Keening is so much more than that!
Mary described keening as having three functions. The woman/women sang over the person to:
honor the dead
facilitate the expression of grief
move the soul to the next level
The keen occurs in three sections:
Salutation — the dead is saluted, direct to the deceased
Dirge — verse, genealogy (Here lies........) then eulogy
Gol — at the conclusion of each verse the keeners lead a choral cry, in which the others who are present join in. This is the part that I thought was the keen, and now understand, is only one piece of it.
Keening “was a sacred improvised chant that evolved over many centuries” and was “of an improvisational nature … and reflects the life and passing of the individual who has just died” (McLaughlin, 2019). Keening was personal, intimate, a celebration of life, and an expression of grief.
In Kashubia, for the first several nights following a death, family, neighbors, acquaintances gathered at the house where the person was laid out in an open coffin. The final night, the night before the funeral, was called Empty Night (Pustô noc). Empty Night began and ended with a song. Men sang the songs responsively in two groups. The range of songs was broad, and depended on the customs of the local community. Next to the coffin was a candle or other light. During the night, those present would observe the body and check to make sure the person did not become a vampire/demon.
My Irish and Kashubian ancestors both seem to have accepted death as a natural process in the cycle of life. All rituals and customs surrounding death focused on dignity and respect, preparation for the after life, and protection from evil spirits.
Similarities between the Irish and Kashubian traditions:
People died at home where the body was also prepared for burial/cremation.
A sacred space was created within the home where the person was laid out.
Mirrors were covered and clocks were stopped.
There was a gathering, wake, where guests came to the house of the deceased.
Food and drink were offered to attendees.
Wakes lasted beyond one day - 3 days in Ireland in the 1800s and four days in Kashubia.
During the wake, there were prayers and singing that lasted well into the night.
The morning of the funeral there was a procession from the home to the cemetery.
While both the keen and Empty Night are ways of saying goodbye to the deceased, they also seem to be ways of bringing the community together to be with death, to spend time confronting the reality of death and the deceased, and to begin to create space for true celebration, communication, and mourning. They are ritual mechanisms to begin to work through grief, publicly and privately.
In both traditions, the community takes time with the deceased, not rushing through the process the way I experienced it with my father’s death. It makes me wonder if I had experienced traditions such as these while growing up, would seeds have been planted within me to have better prepared me to navigate the process of my father’s death and my response to it?
For examples of keening, see:
Aran Female Singer. 1957. Caoineadh na Marbh. In Songs of Aran: Gaelic Singing from the West of Ireland (Sydney Robertson Cowell. [CD] tr.19. City: Washington DC: Smithsonian Folkways Recordings FM4002.
Mullin, Bridget 1957. ‘Caoineadh na Marbh’, Songs of Aran: Gaelic Singing from the West of Ireland I (Sydney Robertson Cowell. [CD] tr.20. Washington DC: Smithsonian Folkways Recordings FM4002.
For examples of Empty Night, see:
On Apple Music: Laboratorium Pieśni, a female vocal ensemble, album: PusteNoce – Pieśni, które już się kończą.
Heart — Honoring ancestors and my ancestor altar
The veil between this world and the other world is the thinnest right now so it is a powerful time to honor my ancestors and to call upon them for support and knowledge.
My altar contains items that represent the five directions (East, South, West, North, Center), the five elements (Earth, Water, Ether, Air, Fire) and the five devotions (ancestry, humanity, Mother Earth, divinity, teachings). There is also a photo of my great great great great grandmother. Elizabeth Jones Allen.
Elizabeth is the ancestor for whom I have the oldest photo. Elizabeth was born in South Carolina around 1800 and moved to Woodville, Mississippi in 1816 in a covered wagon. She lived to age 96.
Looking into her eyes I see my father’s eyes. I also see her perseverance, strength, sorrow. I simply cannot imagine moving from Camden, South Carolina into the Mississippi Territory in a covered wagon (Mississippi didn’t become a state until 1817). 752 miles and 11-12 hours on our modern interstates, in our modern vehicles.
There are so many variables for this trip in 1816. Even if they traveled at 2mph on flat terrain, which this journey certainly would not have been, this journey would have taken more than a month or two or even more. And making this trip as a newly wed!
Once in Woodville, came the task of creating a home, a business, and growing a family. It’s exhausting just thinking about it all. The changes Elizabeth experienced in her life (which lasted almost the entirety of the 19th century) had to be daunting. Perseverance and strength must have been foundational to her, and are what I am hoping she will help me learn this season.
Often I will just sit near my altar and just talk to my ancestors. During this season, I say an ancestral verse and then see where the conversation takes us. Each year my ancestor verse is a bit different and particularized to the needs of the family. It always has four parts: Welcome, Gratitude, Request, Thanks. When I say it I feel like I am tapping into something larger than myself.
Here’s a wonderful example from Arin Murphy-Hiscock:
Ancestors, thank you for being here with me and my family.
Guide us daily, and help us to make right choices.
Be our strength and our comfort,
And help protect this home.
Thank you for your lives and your accomplishments.
Ancestors, we thank you.
During the week of October 31st I add a little bowl of chocolate, a little bowl of oats, a little glass of whisky, and a little glass of water to my altar. It’s a way of providing a bit of nourishment, to any who may visit during this time. I will make Soul Cakes and add one to the altar as well. A fire will be lit in the fireplace and the coals will be banked at bedtime. This is a nod to my Kashubian ancestors who left food and drinks on their windowsills, and lit the oven so that any ancestors who visited could rest, have a little something to eat and drink, and warm themselves.
Even though I have never met Elizabeth nor many of my other ancestors they are my greatest teachers. Their essence runs through my blood, bones, and being. Their ancestral wisdom is there in the shadows, just waiting to reconnect with me, so that I may bring it back into the light of day for my family.
This season my hand, head, and heart explorations provide an opportunity for me to delve deeper into my fears, the seeds I am planting, and what I am alchemizing into something new. What will that something new be? I’m excited to see!
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