Make me soft again

a writing reflection & guided meditation

Somehow it has been exactly three months since my last post…

And within those three months
summer became autumn
and autumn is now making its way to winter.

The cold is calling me back into myself
seeking warmth in my breath,
practicing the presence of God
in everyone and everything.

And within those three months
I have hiked through Kyoto’s holy mountains
and my body’s memories.

I have fallen apart.
I have created and decayed.
I have yelled and sobbed,
apologized and declared.

Some days it feels like death surrounds me —
pictures of loved ones
framed throughout this corridor home,
holding hands of the dying,
conversations of suffocating grief.

The fragility of life,
of relationships.

I’ve been reflecting on death
and what it is to die,
because it doesn’t feel like he, or she, or they died.

I feel and see them
in the light of the sun
and in the shadows cast by the moon.

The body decays
and the soul grows.

I am dying. I am growing.

There is a myth
that the body’s cells replace every seven years —
as do our relationships.

A series of endings and beginnings.

If this is true,
this would be my fifth cycle
of my body being replaced.

Seven years ago I got sober.
Seven years ago I started bringing my offerings into the world.
Seven years ago I entered a life-changing relationship.

I am and I am not
the person I was seven years ago.

My cells have died and regenerated
a thousand times in between.

And right now
I stand in the in-between —
the threshold of loss and love for another time,
of letting go,
of building.

Is this the pain of ending again?
Is this what it is to be a dying star —
violently exploding
and shedding layers?

Traveling to the underworld —
a destination for the dead
and a source of new life.

I am molting and relearning how to be soft again.

The yearning to be soft
in a world that demands me to be hard.

I am not a machine.
I am made of delicate flesh
and fragile stories.

My heart
an ocean of love and service
that the body has no choice but to contain
reminding me I am human
as much as I am soul.

I am limited and I am limitless.

I am practicing what it is to be both
what it is to honor my body and bones
and say,
I can’t right now.

Since this summer’s injury,
my body has been bracing for impact.

There is a rigidness that haunts me —
the compression,
the tightness,
the loss of feeling.

Sex became numb
and the identities I created
for decades around my sexuality
were put to rest —

buried in the ground
so I may reflect
and cry at the tombstones
of my organs that create life.

I want to be soft again.

I want to know my pleasure
outside of others’ ideas,
expectations,
and dreams of me.

So many truths have been spoken;
my voice and body
can no longer contain secrets
as they once did.

I meet edges of discomfort
every time I share.

But I am nurturing my inner nature,
and nature loves courage.

My muscles and fascia
take care of me in their most primal state —
but my heart,
my nerves,
do not want to brace.

I talk to the water I drink
and whisper to this body I stretch.

Maria, Maria,
I cry,

stretch my heart a thousand times,
show me what it is to be soft and open
in a world of daggers and fears.

Because my greatest fear
is not letting go
when all the signs told me I should.

I am dying
and I am living.

There is something really beautiful happening —
a clarity,
a truth.

Rediscovering,
relearning
who I am
and who I am becoming.

Structures and patterns are falling,
but the foundation remains the same —

a foundation built on love,
on breath,
on prayer,
on practice.

I prayed the rosary this morning
and my heart began to break open again,

like morning light
finding its way
through the windows
to my skin.

Please make me soft again.

a softening meditation - practicing the presence of god
—
Let's soften together, upcoming in person/remote offerings