In 2011 I joined a group of women who met monthly with a spiritual teacher for the purpose of exploring goddess wisdom and learning to live with ourselves and the world in a positive and balanced way. I was hesitant. I knew that a few of the women were in recovery, but that wasn't the theme, and, truthfully, I wasn't someone who celebrated circles of women. But I wanted to be. Knowing that my internalized misogyny grew out of discomfort with myself, I sought to heal, to open myself to the wisdom that I knew I could glean from my sisters. As I hemmed and hawed around the invitation, citing concerns for time I "needed" to spend with my new spouse and his daughter, our teacher gently asked, "Do you think they'd be OK with you taking one afternoon a month for yourself?" Well, of course they would (and may not even have noticed I was gone!).

So, I spent the next year chanting, meditating, dancing and learning about various facets of spirituality with a focus on the feminine, sometimes with an internal eye-roll, but mostly with a desire to relax into a greater sense of my connection to Spirit, and to recognize that in other women, I had more in common that there were differences. Following the official year, members of the various "classes" met quarterly, coming together to share how we were practicing the principles of compassion and respect for the planet and all beings in our daily lives. While not as engaged as many, I showed up, enjoying the cosmic exhale as we sat. And then, our teacher, my age, took ill, and was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took her in eight short weeks. It was a shock to all who knew her. 

That was three years ago this weekend, and to mark the occasion, a dozen of us gathered on Zoom to listen to one of our teacher's recorded meditations. It was good to be reminded of the importance of a daily practice, however we define that, as well as the striving to keep an open heart, despite my (or the world's) circumstances. Exhaling.

Three years since Jayna's death marks a season of loss in my personal calendar with anniversaries of passings punctuated by the glorious colors of autumn. As I learn to breathe into my memories, I move towards a calmer acceptance of the impermanence of this life, though I sure wish some of my loved ones had stuck around a bit longer. As ones who borrow from many different spiritual traditions, my spouse and I have started our yearly ofrenda, the little space amid Halloween decor reserved for photos of family and friends who've gone on. I appreciate this small ritual of remembering.

Sitting in my regular online meetings this week, I had to chuckle at our new "normal," seeing fellow travelers in their living rooms, or their beds, eating oatmeal or maybe a burrito, with cats and the occasional small child wandering across the screen. I marvel at our adaptability, and the swiftness with which the 12 Step powers-that-be stepped in to make sure we had options. I hear people who aren't in recovery talk about the disconnect of not seeing anyone, and while I sometimes bristle at sitting in front of the computer, I'm so very grateful for the option (especially now that our outdoor park meetings are coming to an end).

Moving into the darker, colder days, I've been thinking about how I'll fill my time. Here in the Pacific NW, we say that if you don't run/walk/hike in the rain, you don't do it at all, so I will still be outdoors, but definitely not as much. Having journaled on that topic earlier in the day, I opened an email offering me a part-time gig in my field, working from home for about 12 hours a week. I haven't made a decision as I gather more information, but was reminded of the time I was between jobs, wondering out loud what might be next. Several people pointed me in a particular direction, and when I finally listened (and got the job I'd have for the next 5 years) I remembered the story we tell in AA about the fellow who is shipwrecked and asking HP to save him. He turns away several offers, saying that he's waiting for God. After he dies, he asks St. Peter, "Why didn't God help me?" to which Peter replied, "He sent you a helicopter and a rowboat - what more did you want?"  I'm not equating my friend's email with the Voice of God (see: Alan Rickman in the movie Dogma) but I am paying attention to a possible answer to my "what now?" question.  Sometimes what I seek is right in front of me while I'm busy looking for flares and skywriting, nowhere near as complicated as I may want to make it. I loved my career. I just didn't like doing it for 40 hours a week. Might this be a temporary answer to my question?  As in all things, more will be revealed.

How do you know when you are in self-will or when you are trusting the process? Are there practices that take you to a place of calm attention? Do your self-care practices shift with the seasons? (For me, it is more candles and cozy naps; a good book and hot tea vs iced.) What brings you peace?

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).