Transition Happens

In my previous post, I discussed how we are witnessing shifts of energy – in which things are coming to an end so that new beginnings rise out of the ashes. My father currently undergoes his own transition as he begins the process of “wrapping up” life as he’s known it in the home on Marksberry Road that he and my mother built from the ground up. Eighteen months have passed since my mom’s death, and the time has come to downsize, clear out my mother’s things collected over 69 years, and prepare to sell the homestead.

Dad has been going through drawers and boxes of papers and items that mom collected: article clippings – by the hundreds from Southern Living and Martha Stewart magazines; clippings from newspapers about events that touched her heart and instilled her hope and faith in humanity; office supplies for her never-ending mission to be perfectly organized; silk flower arrangement and craft supplies for the many Martha Stewart projects she did and planned to do; purchase receipts; owner manuals; warranty information; billing statements and invoices; cancelled checks; tax papers; bank and investment statements; maps and AAA books of every state she and my father visited; the list goes on! Dad mumbles as he sifts through it, tossing most things and keeping a few things as he moves towards this inevitable life transition.

This weekend, my family gathered in Owensboro to celebrate my little brother’s birthday with brunch at the Moonlight Bar-B-Cue, then a visit to my mother’s grave. Afterwards, we went through some of mom’s personal memorabilia that dad had set out for us. Steve took what he wanted; I took what I wanted, and the rest was tossed. I was amazed, and rather pleased, with the state of peacefulness I felt as I sifted through old photos, love letters my dad had written to mom in their youth, her baby gown and a lock of her baby hair. She’d kept letters I’d sent to her over the years and my baby scrapbook. She stored carefully my old Apollo band Field Commander uniforms, as well as her own wedding dress and one of my childhood coats, all of which she’d made. This woman, my mother, continues to amaze me, even still today. Upon bringing these items home, I sorted through some other belongings I’d collected two months after her death – jewelry, more photos, a notebook recording her family’s genealogy, and keepsakes of her younger years; again, feeling such inner peace within as I touched these items that strongly hold her energy.

Though a great portion of this transition is my dad’s, it isn’t his transition alone. It’s my brother’s and mine, and even my sister-in-law’s and nephews. We’ve shared many memories in this house, on this land, with our neighbors and friends, grandmother, cousins, aunts and uncles, etc. I watched my mom and dad build this homestead with their blood, sweat, and yes, even tears of exhaustion and frustration, doing a little bit at a time over the thirty-five plus years they’ve lived there. My mom’s legacy lives on in her beautiful flower gardens. We’ve experienced a great deal of life on this place that overlooks beautiful Browns Valley, Kentucky: winter storms, birthdays, anniversaries, marriages, divorce, Sunday Smith family gatherings, heartaches, grandchildren, high school graduations, retirement, celebrations, disappointments, holidays, and the death of our matriarch.

Yes, grief over the loss of my mother finally eases its grip on my heart. The loss of a loved one means change, and I’m grateful to my dad for taking time to make this next and natural transition. He’s ready; my brother and I are ready. We want him safe, comfortable, and without worry of the huge responsibility of the homestead’s upkeep. And as time marches on, mom’s energetic presence permeates the household less as Dad has made it his home. He’s worked through the process of his grief, and we’ve paced with him. Several months ago, I felt dread around this impending transition, one much discussed over the last year. Today, I’m ready, willing and able to serve him for his highest and best, without the hooks of grief creating drama in and around the situation.


Does this mean the day he hands the keys to the house over that I won’t feel any emotion? Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know I will miss my homeplace. I will miss the comfort it has offered in times of upheaval in my life. It’s been a sanctuary, a retreat in my adult years. But the legacy of my mom and dad will forever live on in these eight acres to be enjoyed by another who I hope recognizes the depth and spiritual value of this piece of land and the house that sits upon it. More importantly, I hope the new owner will forever know and appreciate the energy of the love with which it was created.

I'm a S.H.I.T.

It’s been two months since my last post! Time flies when you’ve been a S.H.I.T. – Spiritual Human in Transition. I learned of this acronym from friends who attended a Coptic ministry conference. I loved it because when we are on the spiritual path, and in energetic shifts of moving from lower vibrational ways of being (angry, upset, drama, etc.) to higher vibrational ways of being (loving, joyous, abundant, etc.), our Human Egos move into turmoil. Its turmoil is that it is no longer in control of us through fear, lack, insecurity, and doubt, and change from what’s comfortable though unproductive choices to those more productive can rock its world.

I have been a major S.H.I.T. off and on through this last year and a half; many of you know this journey, and for those who don’t, look back on posts from the last year and you’ll understand. I’ve been in this transitional space again these last two months, spiritually guided to clear clutter in my life: emotional clutter (relationships/grief), physical clutter (belongings/people), and mental clutter (choices/stinking thinking).

The one year mark of my mom’s transition from this life is this Friday, September 3. The last two months have been a vivid memory bank of emotion, imagery and heartache. These memories support my grieving and healing process. Someone commented on a June post that I will forever carry the sorrow of my mother’s death within me; that it will define me. I know I will carry the memory of my mother and her absence in my life with me, but I am not my sorrow, and I choose not to carry the energy of sorrow as a cross to bear, nor wear it as a badge. To carry such emotion within you is not healing, it is burdensome. Our Great Creator’s intention is for us to experience this lifetime in joy, love, abundance, peace and harmony. Only that part of ourselves called the Human Ego will counter against such a spiritual way, convincing us that our life, perceived through Human Ego eyes, is our burden to bear; it supports us living life as a victim. Our life’s journey is about freedom through healing, and our spiritual path is about freeing ourselves from such imprisonment of self-imposed burdens, and/or those imposed upon us by others.

I’ve also been hanging on with hope to a hopeless relationship; after finally accepting it for what it is, I decided to move on, since hanging on was getting me nowhere. Despite the heartache, I know spiritually this is the highest and best for both parties, though the emotional loss stings nonetheless.

Additionally, I’ve recently decided to face and heal a long standing flaw in my humanness that has existed since I was a teenager in high school: my addiction to food. Through these transitions of late, and through my entire life, I’ve been in an unhealthy relationship with food. Food never lets me down when I’m blue, upset, bored, lonely, happy, etc.; it’s there night and day, thick and thin; the lover (that I’ve not yet experienced in human form) that I can count on anytime, anywhere, 24/7, to be there for me. After decades of “lying to myself” and “turning a blind eye” to this hard reality, I’m facing it head on with professional help, and a humility that surrenders this addiction over to my Higher Power.

Mourning: That’s been the theme of my life this last year: the loss of a mother, what appeared to be a promising future with a romantic partner, and an emotional “lover” that has soothed me throughout the decades. Through these transitions, I’ve reached out for help and support. Our spiritual path is about healing but we can not be so arrogant to believe we can or should do it alone.

We are forever and always in choice around how we choose to move through our human experience. As humans, we will feel the sorrow, the heartache. It is what we were created to experience in the Earth plane; however, as spiritual beings in the human experience, we are created to understand and remember we are God expression, and the Spirit of God expresses not in sorrow, but in joy; not in lack or poverty, but in abundance; not in judgment but in compassion, not in chaos and upset but in peace; not in helplessness, but in personal empowerment; not in discord but in harmony.

We create our own Reality. I’ve allowed myself the human experience of grief and loss through these transitions. I choose not to accept this as my “burden” or way of being in my life, but to rise above the circumstances within it, and view it from a higher perspective; a perspective that is enlightened by the true Spirit of God, and who I Am as God expression.

What Would Buddha Do When a Loved One Dies?

I just sent the April Soaring Dove Connection newsletter that discusses the loss of a loved one and how those of us left behind are left wondering if he or she is okay and how to go on without them. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, or if you do not receive it on a regular basis, please click here. I write this blog as a follow up.

I recently acquired a wonderful book called What Would Buddha Do? An interesting take on the popular “What Would Jesus Do,” it takes the teachings of Buddha and breaks down the many areas of life, such as love, insecurity of self, doing the right thing, walking life’s path, to name but a few, expanding the teaching from a modern perspective. Ironically, I just opened this book to the section of love, and came across the question: “What would Buddha do when a loved one dies?” I wanted to share the teaching through this venue as a follow up to the April issue of Soaring Dove's eNewsletter.

“Not through weeping and grief do we obtain peace of mind. We increase misery; we harm our bodies. We become thin and pale, destroying ourselves by our own power.” Sutta Nipata 584

Buddha doesn’t intend that we as humans are not to mourn our loss through tears, for as humans, our feelings do demand expression, regardless of whether that expression brings embarrassment or tears to us or those who watch. Consider how you feel when you or another is expressing his or her grief. Are you uncomfortable because you have not fully grieved a loss? Are you embarrassed to share your feelings lest you feel vulnerable and weak? Are you in touch with your emotions about the loss or have you steeled yourself against them in order to be strong as our society demands and even expects it?

When life ends, we do need to mourn, but once we have faced and expressed our grief, we have to let it go. This is the challenging part for many of us; we want to hold on to our grief, which means that we are holding on to the one whose loss prompts the grief. After awhile, this emotionally-gripping attachment drains us and prevents the direction of our energy of love to someone or something else and/or new in our life. Grief is indeed a process, but when we hang on to it as the theme for our personal (often unconscious) agenda to unproductively hold us hostage to victimization and self-pity, we then misuse our personal power, and begin that process of self-destruction that Buddha speaks of in the above teaching.

Our letting go of our loved one and moving on with living our life does not dishonor his or her memory, for we forever remain attached to him or her in love through our hearts. In doing so, we honor all that their presence contributed in our journey during which time we mutually shared a path. They continue to live through us and our personal expression of power; sometimes this is expressed positively and/or unproductively. Regardless, when we can heal our hearts, we can begin to understand that we are always and forever One with our loved one who once served, and who continues to serve us as a teacher, even when physically absent in our life.