Please Be Gentle With Yourself

I have found myself writing and/or saying those words to an unusually large number of people in recent months. 

All in response to trauma, stress, fear, illness, worry or the loss of a loved one.

According to Chinese Medicine, Autumn is the time for grief and awe, for choosing the valuable jewels to keep in your pocket and letting the rest go. Many people let go of life in the fall, leaving the rest of us to grieve and cherish the gifts worth keeping. My mentor and friend, BobDuggan, the one who taught me this, passed away this fall. I am thankful daily for the many gifts he gave me and am inspired anew to share them with the world.

Now, we begin the plunge into the holiday season and Winter is making itself known. It is the season of courage and fear, quietly facing the unknown and being willing to sit in deep, dark, stillness with it. Letting our resources rebuild until we're ready to rise back up in the Spring. Unlike the chaos many of us have designed for ourselves this time of year. 

As as a result, this transition we're in, between letting go and unknowing, is often a struggle for many in our culture. We seem to think that we should be on the go constantly, happy constantly, no time to reflect. And yet, nothing in nature does that. What makes us think we're exempt? I'm seeing a lot of illness and dis-ease in my treatment room due that struggle. Helping people let go and open back up to that deep, revitalizing stillness is a huge part of my work these days.

It seems to me that it's no mistake that the presidential election is at this transitional time of year. It is our nation's time to choose what/who is valuable and let the rest drop away. It sets the tone for the future, just as fall and winter in the natural world does for spring.

Many old wounds are being lanced of late in our world. So much pain. So much suffering. So much ugliness. As we mend and recover, may we come to cherish what's valuable while letting go of what's not. May we sit quietly together, listening, as we repair these old wounds, not knowing what will come of it.

May we show simple kindness to ourselves. And others. Rebuilding our community, one moment at a time. Not in reaction, just quietly being with each other. The equivalent of my (southern) culture's tradition of just showing up with a ham and quietly doing the dishes. This is how we will heal and grow together.

So, please… be gentle with yourself.

Until next time,

Janice

p.s. Feel free to drop me a note or give me a call if I can be of help to you during this time. ~ jc

Please Be Gentle With Yourself

I have found myself writing and/or saying those words to an unusually large number of people in recent months. 

All in response to trauma, stress, fear, illness, worry or the loss of a loved one.

According to Chinese Medicine, Autumn is the time for grief and awe, for choosing the valuable jewels to keep in your pocket and letting the rest go. Many people let go of life in the fall, leaving the rest of us to grieve and cherish the gifts worth keeping. My mentor and friend, BobDuggan, the one who taught me this, passed away this fall. I am thankful daily for the many gifts he gave me and am inspired anew to share them with the world.

Now, we begin the plunge into the holiday season and Winter is making itself known. It is the season of courage and fear, quietly facing the unknown and being willing to sit in deep, dark, stillness with it. Letting our resources rebuild until we're ready to rise back up in the Spring. Unlike the chaos many of us have designed for ourselves this time of year. 

As as a result, this transition we're in, between letting go and unknowing, is often a struggle for many in our culture. We seem to think that we should be on the go constantly, happy constantly, no time to reflect. And yet, nothing in nature does that. What makes us think we're exempt? I'm seeing a lot of illness and dis-ease in my treatment room due that struggle. Helping people let go and open back up to that deep, revitalizing stillness is a huge part of my work these days.

It seems to me that it's no mistake that the presidential election is at this transitional time of year. It is our nation's time to choose what/who is valuable and let the rest drop away. It sets the tone for the future, just as fall and winter in the natural world does for spring.

Many old wounds are being lanced of late in our world. So much pain. So much suffering. So much ugliness. As we mend and recover, may we come to cherish what's valuable while letting go of what's not. May we sit quietly together, listening, as we repair these old wounds, not knowing what will come of it.

May we show simple kindness to ourselves. And others. Rebuilding our community, one moment at a time. Not in reaction, just quietly being with each other. The equivalent of my (southern) culture's tradition of just showing up with a ham and quietly doing the dishes. This is how we will heal and grow together.

So, please… be gentle with yourself.

Until next time,

Janice

p.s. Feel free to drop me a note or give me a call if I can be of help to you during this time. ~ jc

The Passing On of A Friend

A couple of weeks ago, I had a shamanic healer tell me to keep a look out for a girl, a piece of paper, and an owl. Weird, I know. And he, the shaman, is a trustworthy sort and really knows his stuff. So, I have been holding that loosely in the back corner of my mind ever since.

This past Friday, when I woke up, I noticed that the world seemed quieter for some reason. Not making much of the observation, I went on with my day, went to the office to treat a few folks then had plans to go play chess with my friend, Penny.

About midday, I saw a text from my dear friend, Marty. Our beloved Vienna Hagan (formerly Helen Sacher) had died quietly in her sleep early that morning.

My heart broke open. Wide. Painful yes... and painful like bright light can be painful... not painful like a tearing away. The sensation was so different from anything I had felt before with grief, even knowing each time is different. I was awed. It was expansive not contractive. Weird. And I just let it be as I cried great gulping sobs for the loss of my friend and really, for the world's loss.

You see, Vienna was one of the great lights in the world. Her spirit – or shen as we say in Chinese Medicine – was so clear, it radiated happiness and love to the whole world. Not in a cheesy, intentional way – just by being who she was. She was a big, red-headed girl in her 40's who loved life and everyone in it. She embraced adventure and was very, very brave. Especially in the face of the cancer that finally took her life. So much so that she truly lived for over two years after being diagnosed, rather than the handful of months they gave her to survive.

As I sat looking for words to describe the expansive feeling in my chest, I looked up and there pinned above my desk amidst a bunch of other stuff was a piece of paper with an owl on it that said:

Miracles start to happen when you give as much energy to your dreams as you do to your fears.

And I began to laugh. Loudly. In equal volume to my sobs from a moment before. Vienna had such a great sense of humor! And that quote was a real smack in the head. It sounded just like her.

It became clear to me that her light had just grown so bright that a body couldn’t contain it any longer. And when she died, I had been lucky enough to get a refracted piece of that light that opened my heart wide. What joy!

I spent the rest of the day smiling. And feeling as though I had been given my marching orders. Those of us who were lucky enough to be touched by the beautiful spirit that was Vienna Hagen have a mandate. Or at least, I do. It is now my responsibility to continue to carry that joy and wonder out into the world. That is the best memorial a girl could ask for.

It has been several days now, and the feeling persists. I am no longer asking, “If not now, when?” because now is it – in a very visceral way, I am forever changed.

I wish you all much light and love and laughter. And look out for miracles...

peace,

Janice