Grief is a sacred journey

Spirituality

The Black Madonna Wore Pink: Marion Woodman, 1988

253 8 3 I felt compelled to go. I wasn’t sure why. A friend had invited me to a weekend workshop on the Black Madonna led by Jungian analyst and writer Marion Woodman. In 1988, I had

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When the Bluebirds Fledged

143 16 1 Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they’re given wings. ―Rumi. In April, the female claimed the nesting box closest to my house, just down

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Reclaiming Inner Peace in an Agitated World

185 2 4 “Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in

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Baby David’s Hippie Baptism: A Ritual to Bless New Life

119 Soon after our son David was born in 1970, my husband’s mom gave me a small battered box. Inside, wrapped in crumpled tissue paper, I found a yellowed christening dress with the lace still in good shape. “You’ll

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Interdependence

114 4 I should have known sorrow would flood my heart. I should have known grief would grab my belly and soak my face. I should have known I’d search the crowd for my dead husband’s smile. I should

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May There Be Peace on Earth

106 Someday soon we all will be together If the fates allow Until then, we’ll muddle through somehow.* *Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (lyrics by Hugh Martin & Ralph Blane, 1944) I recommend the article Have Yourself

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Winter Solstice: Rituals of Grief, Hope, and Laughter

174 4 In 2009, the year after my husband Vic’s death, my sons and I created a solstice ritual. In Solstice Blessings: A Family Ritual of Remembrance and Love, I wrote about that first of many rituals of love and remembrance. We

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Dear Anxiety: It’s Time for A Heart-to-Heart Talk

201 16 3 I know you’re scared. How could I not know when I wake up in the night with a knot of fear in my gut? I know you’re worried about the world. I know you’re

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How to Remember the Sorrow We Can’t Forget

246 14 4 “I don’t come to Vic’s cairn so often now,” I said to my friend. She and I had walked my favorite forest trails before taking a side trail to the stone memorial where my husband’s

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A Spiritual Path with Heart

77 Gayatri Devi was close to sixty when I met her in the 1970s. She was small, dark-eyed, and bubbled with joy and laughter. She wore a white sari with a cloth draped loosely over wavy graying hair.

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