It's hard to believe that a full year has gone by since my mother passed away. It sounds like such a long time, a year...but it feels like just a moment. I can still feel the warmth of her cheek on mine while I was whispering into her ear as her heart slowed and she took her final breaths.
It's remarkable how an entire life can get divided into "before" and "after" - how suddenly the reference point changes.
The moment I let go of my mother's hand that day, I tumbled over the edge of a cliff that I had only known in my worst nightmares. Driven by panic and instinct, I flailed about recklessly and in vain searching for a handhold...a place to put my feet...anything to interrupt this terrifying, endless free fall into an encompassing abyss of grief and sorrow. There is probably not a more effective way to learn to embrace groundlessness, than by the disappearance of the foundation of your entire existence.
Some weeks after my mother's passing, I went to the park to meditate. I sat on a bench with my eyes closed, following my breath and noting the sounds around me with the intention of just being in touch with the chilly winter morning that was unfolding. After a few minutes passed, I was suddenly gripped by such intense panic that I actually gasped out loud. My urge was to leave but, when I tried to get up, my legs felt paralyzed and I found I couldn't go anywhere. So, I sat there breathing...hand on heart...reciting the only mantra I can come up with when I find myself so caught..."It's going to be ok. It's all fine." As I often do when I am struggling in my meditation, I began to call on my teacher in my mind. What would she say to me in this moment if she were here? I imagined her sitting quietly next to me on the bench...her presence supporting me...comforting me...holding space for this overwhelming fear and panic and sudden searing grief...gently reminding me to breathe, and breathe, and breathe.
"I'm falling." I whispered
"Yes." She nodded
"There's nothing I can do about it and I hate it." I said
"The resistance causes you to suffer, not the falling." She reminded me
"I don't know what to do." The anxiety was growing again.
"Just let it happen." she replied, and reassured me that she would stay right there as long as I needed her to.
In the moment I really sensed the very difficult truth that there was nothing to hold onto...and nothing to break my fall...there was such a sense of devastation - and then, such a deep, deep relief. Understanding the absolute nature of the reality before me gave me what I needed to completely surrender to the falling...to the hurting...to the churning, dark, waves of grief that were cresting and crashing within.
Throughout this year, I have found myself returning to this place of surrender over and over again. Some days, I surf and swim and some days it's more like treading water while the waves repeatedly crash down on my head, leaving me coughing and sputtering and gasping for air. Every once in a while, the current will wash me up onto a tiny island beach...deserted and still...where I can look out over the beauty and vastness of the ocean that I belong to and replenish my energy for when the next rip tide comes to pull me out again.
Time and again, my cushion supports more than just my posture as I navigate these waters...as I learn to live in groundless space. It is the place where I go to remember...to remember my mom, to remember my heart, to remember the love of belonging. It is the place I go to find safety, to touch reality, to understand truth. It is a flotation device when the waves are high and my energy feels low - keeping me afloat and allowing me to rest until I have the strength to press on again.
I am so grateful for this path and the way these teachings hold me, guide me, and sustain me through whichever of the 10,000 joys or sorrows happens to be visiting in this very moment...
And this one...
And this one...
And this one...
