Who will be there for me when I die?

Who will be there for me when I die?

Through streams of tears, this question arose… after saying goodbye to my sweet, dear, friend for the last time. This was our last healing session together, our last visit, our last time looking into each other’s eyes, our last shared smile, our last embrace. For over two years, I had watched ALS ravage his body, and in that moment I was still in disbelief that I would never see him again, that he had gone downhill so quickly and steadily. He was a doctor who devoted his life to generously helping others, and with incredible grace he reached out to receive care when he started feeling off. I was one of the healers on his care team, entrusted to hold space for him and his process. It was simultaneously a blessing and absolutely awful. I don’t know if ALS has ever touched your life, but it’s a horrific disease. My friend was totally open with me, allowing me to be with him as he was, and I witnessed the support, and strength, that a lifetime of spiritual practice could provide during sickness and suffering. As his body and its functions began to fade, his heart remained open and strong. He held space for immense fear, anger, sadness, pain, and vulnerability - the full spectrum of what was happening - without losing his quirky sense of humor, even when speaking through a machine. Our time together during those years was precious. It challenged me deeply and expanded my capacity, not only as a healer, but as a friend and fellow human. I wanted to show up for him AND honor my personal feelings, as I watched this person I loved fall apart before my eyes, and in my hands. I learned so much from him, as he fully opened his lifetime of knowledge and wisdom to me during our sessions and visits. He let me see him, and as heartbreaking as it was, it was also a tremendous gift. I would pray in the car on my way to him, asking for blessings so that I could be there fully and be as much help as possible. Instinctively, I knew that I needed help to care for him with my heart wide open, not blocking uncomfortable feelings, or hiding from what was happening. He was getting worse and worse… he was dying. My heart’s wish was to be there for him, care for him, love him, help him receive what he wanted, and let my feelings flow freely. One day when I arrived, there was a sign on the door letting people know that he was no longer receiving visitors. I had never seen anyone do this before, and I smiled. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that part of dying with dignity could include drawing boundaries, creating a sacred and intentional space. At a time when he was most vulnerable, he had to trust his loved ones to carry out and protect his wishes. During his last week I was blessed to be with him twice. This time was precious, and I will always remember it. Somehow I knew how to be with it all, and these last two sessions were profound. I started singing the mantras and prayers that were dear to his heart to him, which created even deeper connection and intimacy. When I left him that last day I was wrecked. My heart was broken open. I received so much from our friendship, from this experience. Through all this suffering, he left his nearest and dearest with gifts… with blessings, wisdom, love and true compassion, with guts and strength that helped us to increase our capacity to give and receive. It was only natural as my tears flowed that I began to wonder “Who will be there for me when I die?” In those moments it was a desperate, raw, visceral question. Who will be there for me? I saw how much care he needed and received, and I was looking at all the people in my life, wondering… Who will care for me when I need help? Who will carry out and protect my wishes? What are my wishes? These questions drew me deeper into my grief and left me feeling incredibly exposed, unprepared, and uncertain. I withdrew strongly, curled up in a ball, snuggled with my dog Rubin, and attempted to nurse my weeping heart and process what I had witnessed. As a healer, I knew part of my gift was the capacity to be with others and hold space when they were sick and dying. It wasn’t the first time I was called upon to do this work, but it was the first time I held that space while ALS destroyed someone I loved so much. This experience changed me, and it’s taken me years to be able to write about it because I am still digesting it. Right away I recognized this question as a true and magnificent gift, but I had no idea the journey it was about to take me on. What began as an immediate mirror being held up in front of me, creating a sense of importance and urgency, turned into a living, breathing, contemplation, that I will return to again and again. In the years since his passing, “Who will be there for me when I die?” has become a part of me. It’s as much a reflection about life as it is about death, and it helps me to pay attention to how I am living and what I am pouring my energy into. As I started exploring who would be there for me when I die, I asked myself: “Who is here for me while I live?” What relationships are strong enough, loving enough, to help me through life’s challenges? Who encourages and supports me to be my best, and who loves me, without judgment, when I am at my worst? Who am I able to be myself fully with? Who do I let in? Who will hold my heart with care when I’m totally exposed and vulnerable? When I’m afraid? When I’m a wreck? When I’m unable to care for myself? When I can’t keep holding it all together? Who will carry out and protect my wishes? It goes beyond the people though. I also receive a tremendous amount of support and care from other sources of unconditional love in my life… my dog Rubin, nature, my heart and its wisdom, my spiritual practice, and my spiritual capital, that boundless, inexhaustible, resource that we all share. How am I living? How can I do the work that only I can do to be here for myself now and when I am sick and dying? Now is the time for me to gather and build a strong connection to my heart, faith, and spiritual capital. I want to intentionally establish and strengthen these transcendent connections now so they enhance the quality of my life, my relationships, and are there for me when I need it most. I am learning how to be here for myself emotionally, to trust my heart and to rely on it and my vast spiritual wealth for what is beyond my capacity. This is my instant and internal source of support in life, sickness, incapacity, and death. The questions kept coming as I began to turn my attention from my life and how I was living to what I might want when I am sick and dying. How will I die well when I have no idea of how or when death will come for me? Even though I knew that I couldn’t truly plan for my sickness and death, I could still explore and make aspirations for what I would like. I knew that I would be there for myself, best I can. My spiritual wealth would support me, and I would require help from others. Would I be able to let go, open up and receive well? What would help me receive well? Contemplating my death wasn’t new to me. When I was very sick with Lyme disease in my early thirties, there was a time when my doctor told me he couldn’t tell if I was going to get better or worse. He lovingly sent me home that day with the suggestion that I get my affairs in order and make any amends or connections I needed to be at peace in my heart. At that point it was more a matter of being incapacitated than dying. Life as I had known it had already been interrupted, and I understood that there might come a day that I wouldn’t be able to care for myself or my consciousness could shift from all the neurological symptoms. Following his prescription, I realized I knew my parents would care for me, and beyond that I just needed to know my dog Tewa would be taken care of. Of course it wasn’t as simple as it sounds here. I was very scared and in a lot of pain, but when I went through this process I really felt my spiritual practice and wealth support me… giving me strength, peace, compassion, and like my friend, keeping my sense of humor intact. But things are different now. I am older and my parents are elders, and I carry the wisdom of what I witnessed with my friend. My journey with Lyme taught me I could face uncertainty with my spiritual practice as support, but my friend showed me something more… that dying could be met with intention, clarity, and deep care. I want that for myself. Not just knowing my dog Rubin would be cared for, but understanding what would help me receive well, what would allow me to open my heart fully even in my most vulnerable state. I want to meet my death the way I want to live… awake, connected, and held. As I thought about what I wanted, I started to write it down… who to call, prayers I want read to me, music, where I would like to be, the reminder that nature is healing to me. Then it occurred to me that it was time to create my living will, something I could craft in my own words and return to as my life and wishes evolved. It became a practice of love - articulating boundaries of care, expressing how I want my body honored, naming my wish for an outdoor celebration. Every time I revisit it, I smile because it feels good to do this for myself and for the people who will care for me. While writing this piece, a marvelous idea came to me! I’m going to make a video to accompany my living will. My intent is to help my loved ones and care takers connect to my life and what’s most important to me. It would serve as a support for them as they navigate my care, make decisions, and carry out and protect my wishes. Creating my living will felt good and satisfying, but in my heart it still felt incomplete. What good was capturing my wishes, if I didn’t sit down with my loved ones and share them face to face? Taking this next step felt pretty scary. It was time to put myself out there, ask for help, and trust I would be received well. So I gathered up the strength of my heart, and I adventured into these conversations. At this time in my life, it’s just me and my dog Rubin. No partner, no kids. Hoping I would outlive my parents, I looked towards my nearest and dearest who are younger than me. First, I went to my parents, mostly about my wishes if something were to happen to me and I was unable to make my own decisions. Yes, it’s in my living will, but I wanted them to hear it from me. It was hard initially because they are my parents. They gave me life, and here I am having to talk to them about what I want if something were to happen to me. As the words came out I felt the tightness and anxiety in my body release into a gentle sense of ease and relief. In some ways, the conversation with my parents was the hardest and most emotional. It went so well that it gave me courage to continue on. When I thought about who else I wanted to talk to, I knew it had to be a very strong relationship, whether friend or family… someone who would stand up for what I wanted even if there was resistance and who understood my spiritual life enough to help support the deepening of my practice and devotion. Three dear friends, and a whole family of loved ones, came to mind. So off I went, and one by one I told them this story, my wishes and concerns. I felt incredibly vulnerable, like I was carefully carrying my heart towards each of them, revealing it fully, as I looked into their eyes. In these moments, something beyond words passed between us. I wasn’t just sharing. I was asking for help. If you are able to, would you be there for me when I get old and need care? It’s a big ask of someone, but the energy was more of a heartfelt invitation vs asking for a commitment. All the conversations were extremely well received, as I sensed they would be. I felt loved. Warmth permeated my entire being when they each confirmed that I would have a place with them. It was like receiving a huge hug that said, “we love you and we got you.” I am in tears as I write this, recalling those moments. Along with contemplating my sickness and death, I discovered that I wanted to make aspirations and plans for myself as I grew older as well. If I were still on my own, I wanted to make sure I was around loved ones, connected, engaged, and able to contribute. I want to live in a community where people are living meaningful spiritual lives, where we support each other’s well being and sacred aspirations. So it wasn’t just will you help me carry out and protect my wishes for sickness and death. It was also about helping myself live well and flourish, while continuing to benefit others. I certainly don’t know what’s going to happen or how my life will unfold, and I know that I can’t plan for the unknown. But I do know that having these conversations brought peace and ease to my heart, and reminded me that I was loved… really loved. Feeling loved is different from being told I am loved. Not one of these people needed to tell me that they loved and cared for me because the feeling was unmistakable. These conversations are just the beginning. Life will continue to evolve and unfold, and there will be more talks along the way. Nothing is set in stone, yet I feel loved and relieved knowing that I took the time to explore this gift. “Who will be there for me when I die?” has become a living reflection that I return to again and again. I keep the question on a post it in my space, so I see it almost everyday. It reminds me to stay aware of how I am living, to treasure and nourish the precious relationships in my life, to have the guts to reveal my heart to others, and to continue down my spiritual path. My dear friend would be grinning from ear to ear knowing where this question has taken me, thrilled that I am sharing it with all of you, and if this inspires you to embark on your own journey… even better! His generosity and love carries on! I am so grateful to him for this magnificent gift, to Scott Peppet for encouraging me to write about it, and to all my nearest and dearest who are here for me everyday. This week I turned 52 and it’s the two year anniversary of Where do we grow from here? Thank you for supporting me and taking the time to read and listen. It feels like the perfect time to share this piece that is so dear to my heart. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jenlaun.substack.com [https://jenlaun.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Seeing the Lake

For the month of July I was home, on sabbatical, and off the grid. Since 2023 I have been taking a month off every year to write, and to have a break from the world of investments. Usually, I take time off in the Spring, but this year the markets had turbulence. It didn’t feel right to step away from the world, or our team, at that time. When I checked my calendar, I saw that the month of July was wide open, and I took that as a sign to postpone, knowing I was being taken care of. What a gift to have a month off at home during the summer. I live on the shores of Lake Ontario. It’s my front yard, and I see more water than land when I look out my windows. It was exciting to know I would have time off when I could fully enjoy being outside, at home. Over the first 5 days, I transitioned from busy-ness, to focusing on slowing down, gently gathering what I needed, and preparing to step away from the world and my phone. During this time, I set intentions for the month and created the space and container, for being off the grid, letting people know I would not be texting or checking my phone often. Also I was clear, that if we did connect, that I was “fasting” from news, markets, and social media. In early June, I took a bad fall, “horrendous,” according to my neighbor, whose camera caught it on video. By an act of Grace, I was able to pick myself up, not requiring an ambulance or care at a hospital. But the fall really put me down for a couple of weeks, and took a good month for me to be able to function, fairly normal, on my own. I’m deeply grateful for all the care and help I received from my folks, friends, and neighbors during this time. I learned how vital working hands and healthy ribs are! Even now, months later I am still working through some of the residual trauma in my body. So when it came to setting intentions for this retreat, I knew right away that recovery, rest, healing, replenishing, and receiving would be my focus. My body wasn’t 100%, and I needed to listen to, and act on, its needs. This was not a time to push… Within the first few days, I realized that I didn’t want anything scheduled for the month, to be completely free of any commitments. My hope was to be able to lose track of days, and time, just living without structure or constraints. Usually I keep my standing weekly qigong practice on the books, but during our first session I knew that if I hadn’t had that scheduled, I would have been at the beach with Rubin, the wonder mutt. So I cancelled practice for the rest of the month. I knew I needed that freedom more than practice. Nothing else was scheduled… ahhh yes! I was getting there, getting closer to what I needed. This piece turned out to be invaluable. After spending the Holiday with my extended family at the beach, for our annual 4th of July picnic, and joining my neighbors for a meal the following day, I was feeling ready to step away and quiet down. On the evening of the 5th, I took a turn inward, starting to “retreat” from it all. I knew the focus of this time was around recovery and rest. I needed a break from all that I carry everyday, time to set it down, without worry. Since April I had a count down app set up for this time off, calling it “writing retreat,” intending to work on my book. I started off working on the first section, organizing, rewriting, editing. It was enjoyable to read what I had written over the last couple of years. Until this point, I hadn’t really read much of what I wrote, other than to organize it. Now I was diving in, immersing myself. But after a few days I realized I was really pushing myself. I was keeping track of everything, my progress, what I did every day, and how I spent my precious time and vital energy… writing, pulling cards from the Sacred Path deck, journaling, spiritual practice, walking in the woods, making healthy meals, spending time outside, reading, singing, floating in the lake, dancing…. Why did I feel the need to keep track of everything I was DOING? It was like I was trying to prove to myself that I was making good use of this time off. Even though I was enjoying all that I was doing, including working on my book, my body was crying out for something else. At first I tried to push past what my body needed. After all, I had planned to work on my book during this time, and I wanted to work on my book. My daily journals and Sacred Path cards confirmed what I was hearing from my body… “stop pushing, let go, rest.” On the morning of the 10th, without knowing it was the full moon, I woke up feeling like “What am I doing? Why am I pushing myself? I clearly need something totally different.” So, just like that, I dropped it all, pivoted and decided to give myself the break my being was screaming for. Over the last 20 years, most of the time I took off from work was spent in silent retreat(which is highly scheduled and not relaxing), writing, or going to concerts. It had been ages since I had a vacation without a purpose, plan, or direction, totally free to do, or not do, whatever. Now was the time! I was guided to take down, and put away, all the mind maps, images, print outs… basically anything that had to do with my book project. At first I hesitated, as these were manifestations of flow and inspiration, but in that moment, they felt like heavy reminders of what I wasn’t doing. Things I had around me for motivation and support were actually having the opposite effect on me. It was kind of hard to believe, but I trusted my feelings. As I put things away, a lightness came over me, and I felt like I could breathe easier. I continued to open up the space by clearing the whiteboards. This simple act, simultaneously gave me a sense of relief and felt like an invitation for anything to come, now that I made room for it. When I looked around, and took it all in, I smiled, not a toothy smile, but a big warm soothing one. Exhale… In that moment, “Path of Transformation,” came to mind, which was a special piece of art I bought years ago in St Augustine. It had been in a drawer, until I recently ordered a frame for it. When I first saw this print it spoke to me, the image and the words “She loved long, ambling walks. It was there she found clues to her deeper journey.” It felt just right, and again a warm smile arose. I was drawn to hang it above the doorway that stands between my bedroom and lakeside creative studio. Of course it should mark a doorway, an opening, a passage, acting as an invitation, and a reminder of the path and my journey. Once my space felt right, I picked up Miles Davis’s autobiography, and dove in, not only into the story, but into the music. As I read, I turned to Spotify to listen to, and experience, Miles and the vast array of musicians he played with, or admired, throughout his life. All the sudden I was on a journey into jazz. It was so rich, and the more I read and listened, the more I was able to connect with and receive from the music. Miles, Bird (Charlie Parker), Pres (Lester Young), Trane, Bill Evans, Dexter Gordon, Monk, Mingus, Herbie Hancock, and many others filled the space with their sound, grooves, and vibe. Some of the music stopped me in my tracks, grabbed me… jazz had been doing this to me all month, reaching into me and drawing my attention. It’s beyond! I felt the openness, the spaciousness, anything could arise when there was space to, “stroll, step back, explore freely,” as Miles put it. Jazz opens up the space! One morning I woke up and wrote, “I dreamt jazz last night. Mile’s language is catchy. It’s entering a world I have not known, and I love the mix of authentic expression, creation, and a look into a different time and life than I have known.” Jazz rocked my world, went deep into my being, and I loved it! One piece that really stuck out to me in Miles’s life, was when he went to his Dad to tell him he wanted to leave Juilliard and just play. He knew that the formal education had taken him as far as it could, and that in order to grow, and innovate, he must go out on his own, fully immersing himself in playing and touring. His Dad, who saw and supported his gift, understood. His piece of advice really struck me. He told Miles not to be like a mockingbird, who mimics the sounds of others, but to find, develop, and share his own unique voice. Throughout this month I continued to return to this advice. It’s amazing how a simple statement can carry such substance. It showed how much trust his Dad had in his gift, and he knew that for Miles to be of most benefit, he needed to find his own voice, and be true to it. Miles did that, and I saw how so much of my life has been about finding my true voice, discovering, honoring, and pouring energy into my gifts that can be of benefit. Finding your voice, to me, begins by turning inward to find and connect with it, and then nurturing it, growing it, developing it, and expanding it, so that it can be shared. Its purpose, in its higher sense, goes beyond finding that voice for yourself. Finding your voice, no matter the medium, is a way of sharing your story, even if it’s simply expressed through your embodied way of living. I was so inspired by this small passage in the book. As I listened to the music, read about the musicians, learned about the culture and times, it took on more and more meaning for me. It’s funny because in 2018 when I set out on the journey to discover, and reconnect, with my own voice more deeply, I used the word “jazzed” when something felt right. That word just appeared. I don’t remember using it much before then, and ever since I have paid attention to, and followed, whatever it is that “jazzes” my inner child. Now years later, I am reminded of the source of where that feeling comes from, a vast universe of creative potential and expression. The key to this retreat was letting go, and letting be, no more pushing. When I encountered resistance or judgement, which I frequently did, I listened, and then I set it down, gently. I kept coming up against the point of view that I was “wasting time” What does that even mean? Isn’t that very personal? Feelings of wasting my time off, not working on my book, or something “worth” my time kept coming in, like waves on the lake. Depending on the moment, I met them with frustration, kindness, laughter, or curiosity. I knew that I needed to do exactly what I was doing, and the biggest thing for me was allowing myself to live freely, really following my body’s needs. As I reflected on wasting time, I realized that as long as I was present, listening to my body, and feeling that my heart was satisfied, I was not wasting a moment. I had nothing to prove, or anyone to prove it to. The more I was able to let go, strong waves of joy and gratefulness arose. Whenever I got tight and felt I needed to push, I simply just dropped into my body, into the very moment I was in, and felt what I felt. Even the smallest, and most ordinary, things started to become engaging and fulfilling. Many years ago, I remember having a talk with my teacher about how I loved living on the lake, and it being a great place for spiritual practice. With a sparkle in his eyes, he asked me if I saw the lake. I recognized the question as one of his playful and wise reminders that the lake is there, but my mind, and presence, might be far far away. “Seeing the lake” has become this profound teaching that I use on the spot all the time. Am I aware of my experience, fully embodied, or am I some place else? As I sit here looking out at the lake, “Am I seeing the lake?” Like the great song by the Pixies, “Where is my mind?” As my journey into jazz continued, I began to slow way down. I started to “see the lake,” and what was preventing me from seeing it. I had been off the grid, but I was still running some sort of program behind the scenes. “Gotta make use of this time.” Which meant what? And according to whom? Freedom started seeping into my days, and little by little that undercurrent of noise got quieter, and that tightness in my body loosened. I found reading pleasurable. I found preparing meals pleasurable. Listening to jazz became sonic journeys, and my favorite summer activity, floating in the lake, was not only insanely fun, it was medicine. As a quick aside, let me just say, floating here at home is quite an experience. Lake Ontario is vast, and most of the time when I float, from me to the horizon is wide open, talk about feeling like a drop in the ocean. I look around and as far as I can see, there are no other people in the water, no boats, maybe an occasional diving duck or seagull floating near by. Just me… immersed in nature… water, sun, sky, air, birds. Just think about if you went to the ocean to swim and you were the only one in sight, whether you looked up the shore, down the shore, or out to the horizon. It’s magnificent! Like the waves, my stuff kept churning and coming up, pain in my body, that voice reminding me not to waste my time, and that part of me that struggles with my worth. It was all free to come and go, just like the waves, and my resistance kept lessening as time went by. I met whatever I experienced or felt, and I would gently be with it, resting in my body, feeling the breeze blow through my hair and caress my skin, and hearing the water meet the shore, whether it was crashing or softly lapping. My eyes opened up to life, as I was living, and I saw the lake. “Living is enough” was what came to me. This is living the dream for me… the feeling, not so much what I was doing, but who I was, how I was experiencing life. At first, I said the way I have always wanted to live, but that isn’t true. My ideal, dream life evolves as I do. Yes, there were things I still wanted that I don’t have, like finding a special someone to share my life with, or being closer to my Dharma (spiritual) family, having work with less weight… but these things didn’t interfere with me being full in the moment. I kept saying, I want to live a simple spiritual life, and here I was finally living that, for real, according to my current definition of what that meant. Often in the past I romanticized spiritual life, or simple life, or I had someone else’s idea of that life, but here over these last few weeks I had been living my own version. It was very fulfilling, and brought forth so much joy, capacity, and gratefulness. Countless times I looked over at my pup, Rubin, and watched him rest, sleep, play, hunt, take in the world, and again big warm smiles arose on my face. These very ordinary things came alive. Watching him breathe, leaves dancing in the breeze, enjoying all the birds and their babies, the flowers, the sound the waves make when they meet the shore, the jazz, the smell of sun soaked basil, the feeling of the breeze coming through the hammock while I rest, the sweet, textured taste of chilled watermelon on a hot sunny afternoon, the feeling of my open heart and my body as the underlying tension faded away. This is living! Simply living is enough… when I see the lake. I don’t need more than this. Many mornings I would wake up and Rubin and I would hop into Ripple, my ‘82 VW bus, and head to the beach for a walk before it got too hot. Living free, and letting my body and heart lead… some days were spent watching TV and movies, tucked in on the heating pad, resting. Most days we enjoyed the late morning into the mid afternoon shade on the lower deck by the water. It’s a perfect place for practice, singing, reading, looking out at the water, listening to the birds and waves, having a meal, journaling, listening to music, or taking afternoon naps. Naps were a break through for me. I hardly ever nap, except for when I am on meditation retreat. When I am on retreat, the combo of getting quiet, slowing way down, letting go of normal distractions and busy-ness, and 4 sessions of practice, equaling about 8-10 hours a day naturally lent to me seeking a midday nap. One day while Rubin and I were down on the lower deck, I fell asleep. I wasn’t exhausted, sick, or on a retreat schedule. That was when I realized napping, for me, was part of this letting go, into rest. Naps became part of my healing this month, and they happened spontaneously, just like the way I was living. Whether I was reading, catching some rays, enjoying the shade, watching a show, I let go into sleep whenever it came. What a blessing! There is a technique that my teacher uses to drop and rest… it has a specific purpose, but I found that the way I had been living was a casual version of this continuous dropping and resting. Being present and embodied… resting in my body and with life… seeing the lake… letting go and letting be. Resting isn’t only for the sick. Sometimes I still a have a negative view of my body’s need for rest, but here I experienced my well being while I rested. This time was full of movement too… jazz was that perfect sonic journey of space, stillness, and movement. My retreat was jazz. When my body had recovered enough from the fall I took in June, I was able to start dancing again. I had missed it terribly, as my body took weeks just to be able to function on a basic level. My hands, wrists, and ribs took over a month for me to even consider trying to dance. Just like everything else, one day I woke up and felt like dancing. I trusted that, and I danced. Whatever it is that I am doing, I want to be there fully. Dance when I dance. Read when I read. Write when I write. Float when I float… you get the gist. It’s been an incredible time, and really just what I needed. I feel that much has shed and healed. Things were set down, some for good and some I will pick back up, fully or a portion. Holding space for myself, and what I needed was pretty effortless. Yes, I had to hold some clear and strong boundaries, and I also trusted when I needed to enforce them, or let them go. Again following that inner knowing on what to do, when, letting go of “rules” or intentions. I have really enjoyed my neighbors this month too. Rubin and I walked every day, and many days we visited with our neighbors along the way. Everyone knew I was “off the grid” and it was lovely to connect… simple heart felt exchanges. Being home in this way, experiencing home, was incredibly grounding. Of course, I got bored some times, but I was ok with boredom. It’s a rare thing these days because I have so much I can fill my time with to avoid boredom and uncomfortable feelings. I have found the break from my phone to be one of the most impactful and substantial gifts of this retreat. The phone can be a prison. It quickly binds me, and beyond its usefulness, it can be a grand distraction and a true waste of time. Going forward, it’s going to spend more time in the top drawer, without my attention. This time has not been without its challenges. Being open to life, allows anything to come up, and I did my best to ride the waves as they came. In the beginning, I had a lot of fatigue, and I was still recovering from the fall I had in June. I needed rest. At the same time, I was filled with restlessness. My nervous system was saying “go go go… keep going.” It took a bit to settle. Here and there the strong voice came through that said “ you should be working on your book… don’t waste this time… you will regret it… if you don’t work on your book now, when will you ever pick it up again?” I listened, and asked myself “What do I need today?” During this month, the answer wasn’t work on my book. So I stayed the course, listening to my inner guidance, while gently acknowledging what was coming up, doing my best to ride the waves. Some very strong feelings around my worth, as it relates to my body, came forward during this month, and because I was not busy, or distracted, with something else they came rolling in like big, steady waves. Since I was young, my body, its looks and abilities have been strongly associated with how I value myself, and determine my worthiness. Worthiness for what? Love? Happiness? Well that’s a whole other exploration. This way of seeing myself was highly influenced by others. At some point I learned to associate my worth with my body’s appearance and its abilities, and I have spent most of my adult life unwinding that association and belief. With menopause, and aging, my body has changed, and I have struggled with the changes in shape and weight. This has been a journey of acceptance and letting go, doing what I can, and letting go of what is out of my hands. I know in my mind, and heart, that it is most important to feel well, and sleep well, which I finally am after years of sleeplessness. Right now, I am working on finding graceful acceptance with my body, being thankful for sleeping, and experiencing my beauty, even though it’s different than it used to be. In July, it manifested when my bikini didn’t fit comfortably. I felt all the feelings that came, and decided to get myself a bikini that fit well, instead of continuing to create suffering by wearing my old one. This simple act of kindness and compassion was healing. My weight might go up or down, but my health is strong. I have to learn to be ok, and loving, with myself however I might look, and I don’t want to be obsessed with it, like I was when I was young. When it comes to self worth, I am a total work in progress. I have come a long way, and I still have a ways to go. As one part heals and subsides, another surfaces, just like the waves. Almost a full month has passed since I have been back in the world, and so much of this retreat has stayed with me. I lightened my load, and continue to feel the relief of all that was shed, healed, and let go of. Jazz is part of my being, thanks to Miles and his fellow creators and innovators. I keep his Dad’s advice dear to my heart, and listen closely to what “jazzes” my inner child. As I ride the boundless waves of life in all their ever-changing forms, struggle with my worth, or have momentary doubts about how I am living and what I am heading towards, I remember my heart and its wisdom. During this year, I’ve shifted direction a bit, and the time at home has offered me the gift of experiencing how those changes might unfold in my everyday life. One of the Sacred Path cards I drew often, the Shawl, is about returning home to the heart and Mother Earth, and that’s exactly where I am headed, walking the path that leads me home to my heart. Little by little I have begun to let go of some of what I have spent years gathering and building. It eases my mind, and heart, knowing that I am choosing to live in a way that embodies the heart of my path. There is plenty of space for it all to unfold. I am delighted to report, that I am “seeing the lake” more, as I continue to live a simple, less scheduled, more free, spontaneous life, here at the lake. It’s a true blessing to know, and experience, the tremendous wealth of living an ordinary life filled with presence and heart. This is a public episode. 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