I never thought those words would roll off my tongue, but here I am and now cancer is part of my story. I would like to share with you a bit of what has been ruminating since I turned the page to this chapter. I hope this provides an opportunity for connection and that this may benefit you in some way:
Anything that I teach, that seemingly comes from me, is really a culmination of everyone I have known; those who make me wise, who educate, who awaken the song lines of wisdom that pass through the vessel called ‘me’. (This wisdom is not mine. I don’t own knowledge. I own nothing).
My morning ritual begins before the light of day. This ritual of morning can be elegant and focused or sometimes messy and chaotic, but it is still a space made for the eternal to awaken.
As of late, I have been lighting the candles a friend sent me made of beeswax and cedar fronds that imbue the atmosphere with sweet and strong scents. She sent me two tinctures as well. One of the tinctures says grief and release on the bottle. I take this before I meditate. It is bitter and sharp under the tongue. And as it burns slightly I hear a voice whisper from within, Grief is a River, Grief is a River. I hear it over and over again. After meditation I take the one the is called Earth and Heart. It is sweet and succulent. And as I sit quietly another voice whispers, Compassion is the Path, Compassion is the Path.
I see this cancer as a catalyst, a great opportunity. This will not kill me, yet someday I will die. We all say farewell to all we know, to all we love, eventually. But while I live, these challenges, these adventures, the risks, and precarious plots, all show me the eternal rivers that connect us and collect us and point us down the compassionate path of awakening. By dying, we wake. I love you.