New Year in India
December 31, 2023
India drew me back to her again this year to bring closure to 2023 and invite in 2024.
As exotic as the travel may be, this year India is primarily an inner pilgrimage for me and it occurs to me that much of 2023 has also been an inner pilgrimage.
Since finally arriving at 3:30 am December 21 I’ve been increasingly sinking in to the rhythm of the now familiar ayurvedic medicine centre in Kerala state, southern India. Yoga every day at 6:30 am followed by a neighbourhood walk which wanders through jungle and small rubber plantations (delightful to see the rubber dripping into the little black pots on the trees) and past homes that range from ornate/well-to-do to dirt poor. This is not an area where the rich live.
Ayurvedic medicine is an ancient, expansive holistic way of life that is inclusive of individual body, mind, spirit and social wellbeing as well as beyond the individual into the universal.
It matters to me that I am not here just for myself.
As 2023 fades and 2024 is about to make its entrance bringing in who knows what, I am flooded with gratitude to be blessed with loving family and oh so many remarkable friends, colleagues and fellow life explorers.
As my buddy Paul Reps used to say and I am now saying to each of you “THANK YOU FOR YOUR LIFE!"
Follow-up Reflections Around New Years
Just when I thought my gratitude couldn't be bigger, I feel it broadening and deepening as I read all the really lovely feedback (on Facebook) to my words above.
The expansion of my gratitude appears to have inspired and strengthened me to enter deeper territory around what my New Year's Day brings.
I don't remember the year the photo was taken. Scott on the left, Jeff on the right, me in the middle. Sometime in the early '80's.
Since New Year's Day, 2020, the day that my beloved son Scott died, January 1 has been quiet, contemplative.
Through unsurpassed support from many remarkable people and my own dedication to my grieving and mourning process I have come to terms, in many ways, with Scott's death and the death of my younger son, Jeff in 1997. For me their deaths are inextricably interwoven.
Coming to terms doesn't mean "getting over it" like I would the flu or a cold. It certainly doesn't mean forgetting them or denying their presence in my life and the impact of being their mother on my body, in my heart, my mind, my psyche, my existence. The loving bond we shared with each other is eternal, as expansive and infinite as the universe.
What coming to terms does mean is learning to live with this reality. To learn, to learn again, to learn anew, then to learn some more, at times to feel the helplessness and agony of moments when I ask myself "will I ever learn?" even after years of what feels like several lifetimes have been lived and left behind.
It means to reach down into the depths of myself to catch hold of my capacity to neither deny/dismiss nor cling to/become overwhelmed by the array of sometimes stunningly beautiful, other times gut-wrenching memories that flash without warning into the foreground and pierce through me lightening fast.
Coming to terms means to be honest with myself and others about my authentic feelings.
It means to learn, and learn over-and-over, again-and-again genuine acceptance of what has been and what is.
It means recreating my deeply embedded identity.
It means reminding myself that grieving and loving are twins and to learn and practice directing my loving inward in order to embrace and embody compassion for my self as well as my boys, my ancestors, those I've known and the thousands I will never know who made it possible for me to show up here and now.
It means having compassion for my beloved grandchildren, great- grandchildren and all future generations who are facing monumental challenges to find their way.
It means extending my compassion to so many people dear to me who are grieving and mourning, to those legions of others I don't know, and will never know, and to our aching more than human world and our precious earth, our grieving planet. None of us are ever alone in grieving.
Coming to terms also means embracing life as it is emerging one moment at a time into the mystery of the yet-to-be-known what shows up next. Learning, yet again over-and-over, to open and meet face to face what arises with curiosity, with willingness, with receptivity.
It means getting over myself and consciously cultivating my interest and engagement with the remarkable, loving people and the luscious natural world I am so privileged to have around me (including my beloved cat Zach) and be with those who care about each other’s physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual well-being.
Coming to terms means tending lovingly to the source of my vitality, that inner spark of the unique soul entrusted to me.
It means embracing life like a lover and choosing to engage with and co-create the adventure being offered.
And I've now written myself full circle right back to the depth and breadth of my gratitude for all you amazing beings in my life!
A thousand thank you’s!