There is a place deep inside grief that can hold us without pain.
The deepest most hidden place of the grief experience is a seat of Trinity to witness life from.
I was trying to explain this to someone this week. She saw me looking sad and struggled believing me when I said I am very happy.
It is hard to explain that this feels good to me and not be seen as my suffering.
The nostalgia and sadness that stems from that corner is not the same as the mourning experience.
It is not anxiety. Nor trauma or depression.
It is a grounding and integrating of the self.
When you have spent years in grief there is a spontaneous evolutionary experience that takes place but rarely noticed by others.
We experience a feeling of depth, deep reflection and insight that sits in a quiet, silent elysian space. We carry that with us at work, in our craft and in our relationships.
It is never talked about.
When it is, it is presented as meditation, or a zen experience.
It is not that. It is grief’s long term healing depth.
It is grief’s version of a monk like experience.
It is grief’s Monastery.
Most people don’t know about the real magnitude of grief and why we need to find the precise words for it.
I struggle when I get put in a box because it is the easiest way for someone to understand me.
And why I light the way for the places within me and you that get by passed, dismissed and never seen.
This tiny monastery that grief built inside of me and you is the deepest place of the soul.
It is the most beautiful experience I have when I am there.
The tears that stem from this place are bathed in a timeless existence of the self.
This tiny monastery of grief inside of us is similar to a quiet church visit, a peak experience on top of a mountain.
It is holy. It is transcendent. And universal.
How does it look like from the outside? Sorrowful.
How it feels from the inside? Ancient and divine.
It is the face of our soul in human form.
How do we get there?
By crying all the mourning tears, all the healing tears.
By not bypassing the magnitude of grief even when it feels like a tsunami.
By being present in the aftermath.
And by feeling all the pain before it.
Grief’s monastery requires time.
Years of pain and sorrow.
Then moments of joy and gratitude. Life.
When we merge it all together, going back and forth between the painful grief and the joyful life, we stumble upon that deepness of what may look like sorrow but it is not.
It is an unspoken world of deep knowing of what it is like to live with both grief and joy.
When you find that tiny corner of gravity where the monastery is built inside of you, don’t be fooled by the tears.
It is your soul being seen by you.
At long last.
With monasteries,
Christina
P.S. This week’s Dear Life Podcast Guest is the one and only Anita Moorjani. Listen in here
P.P.S. Here is the blog version of this letter.
It’s late Thursday evening as I am writing to you.
And the dark of the night makes for a deeper connection between us.
It’s almost as if we slightly step out of space so we are closer together.
It will be morning when you are reading this letter, night when I am writing it, and so we meet at dawn.
Dawn has always been a sacred time, a non-local world between the sleeping and the wake. The light and the dark. The spoken and the unspoken.
The things that make us. And unmake us.
Grief. Love.
Remembering. Forgetting.
It is the place where loneliness and solitude reside side by side without touching.
The place where impossible things exist.
Unearthly worlds. Unimaginable lives.
But somehow, this place of dawn, the in between day and night, makes everything less earthly. Less humanly. More outwardly.
I often found grief to feel both heavier and lighter there.
It feels as if we know we can endure it but we also know it’s torture.
During that time we can believe in both fairies and science.
In healing but also in the infinity of life’s hardship.
I don’t think, though, I could have felt the specialness of dawn if I had not been touched by grief. Dawn without deep loss is just a place semi-dark.
Nothing magical to it.
Life without loss is also just a place.
Nothing magical to it.
In Michael Collin’s book Carrying the Fire (the third astronaut on the Apollo 11 mission) he says,
“There seems to be two moons now, the one I see in my backyard and the one I remember from up close.
Intellectually I know they are one and the same but emotionally they are separate entities.”
I know you and I have not gone to the moon, but in many ways losing someone we love is as life changing as seeing the moon up close.
It resembles Michael Collins’ two moons experience.
After loss. We have two views. Two lives. Two selves. (Click to tweet!)
But if you ask me, at dawn they become one.
They find their way to each other and blend in.
Grief becomes life, dark becomes light.
And just like that, there is no duality, not duplicity and certainly no extremes, just us and the moon waiting for the sun.
Preparing ourselves for the day ahead.
Today, remember how incredibly lucky we are to see two moons instead of one, to carry the fire within us, and maybe even to have the power to put it all back together at dawn.
With carrying fire at dawn,
Christina
P.S. Read the books, listen to the podcast, and live a life full of moons.
I have always known when something was about to change in my life.
Sometimes I would know it for years beforehand.
I would tell people I know something is coming.
Something is coming.
The change itself was invisible.
I felt the enormity of it.
But there were no signs of what exactly was coming.
Just that everything was going to change.
If you were to time travel to my childhood in Greece you could have never predicted what would come next.
Or if you flew on top of my work cubicle in 2010, you would not be able to see the books I would get to write.
No signs of the future.
Just a knowing.
An unmistakable knowing.
And now a new one is getting closer.
I feel it. I know it.
Just like I knew the others were near.
I do think you too can sense change in your life.
You too have this strong feeling of knowing something is arriving.
A change in the air.
A shift in the way you are breathing.
And if you sit still and really listen you may even hear it.
It is almost like white noise.
A new frequency that goes over the one you are in right now.
And if you are reading this and thinking but Christina, I can’t hear the white noise, or sense anything coming.
Look for your version of subtle.
Your version of how you know something is here that cannot be seen.
After all, sixth sense is not just a number.
It is the eyes of the future and the knower of what is ahead.
Don’t be afraid of knowing.
I know change of this size can feel overwhelming.
But it wouldn’t be coming for you if it did not belong to you.
That is exactly what I whisper to myself just before I go to sleep.
However big this change is.
Whatever grief it will bring on my way out the door.
It is part of a new world that was built for me and only me.
And I will be there to meet it.
I know you will too.
With a new chapter approaching,
Christina
P.S. I hope the Dear Life podcast is keeping you company as you are reentering life.
You will find the last few episodes HERE
I have a few favorite movies I watch over and over again.
They are my safe worlds.
I go to them when a day has been hard.
I put them on and sit to watch as if for the very first time.
My brain rests while entering a familiar world, witnessing someone else’s life.
Crying about someone else’s loss.
And why we must allow ourselves inside these safe worlds.
We must give ourselves a break from our own.
When my husband died, my dad took me to the store and he purchased the biggest TV we could fit in the car.
One third of it was sticking out as we were driving home.
I remember I spent the first few months watching Grey’s Anatomy after I put the girls to bed.
For an hour or two I was immersed inside someone else’s tragedy.
That gave me a breather from my own grief.
In the last few years I have watched The Time Traveler’s Wife at least 20 times.
For those of you who have watched it, you know how the wife in the movie, is able to see her husband after he has passed. And for that one moment we lose ourselves in their reunion.
As they run across the field to embrace each other before he disappears again, we imagine ourselves being the ones running.
We are the ones reuniting.
No matter how many times I watch that part, I stop everything I am doing and sit still so I won’t miss anything.
I am inside a timeless existence while it plays.
Interstellar is another movie I have watched countless times.
And it is not because it has to do with space, but because it has to do with grief.
Specifically grief experienced outside of time.
They lose decades of the lives of their loved ones back on earth.
For them though, it has only been hours.
During those scenes, the way grief is captured is so poignant.
I know you have a favorite movie too.
Maybe tonight, after a long week you put your feet up and let yourself escape inside the safe world of the familiar.
Inside a world you can be a part of, without having to risk anything or lose anyone.
After all, true healing lives inside stories, fictional or not.
It is the only place we can truly witness our own journey. (Click to tweet!)
With many safe worlds,
Christina
P.S. If you know someone who would love to also receive this weekly letter, you can send them here to subscribe: https://secondfirsts.com/second-firsts-message-in-a-bottle/
Sometimes it will feel as if nothing makes sense.
Nothing at all.
You can’t fathom why bad things happen to you.
Even though you try.
You did everything you could to change the course of your life.
You ran when you were supposed to run.
You climbed when the hill appeared in front of you.
You crawled when the ceiling was falling on you.
You swam in the deepest oceans as if it was shallow waters.
You worked hard day in and day out.
You were a good person.
A really good person.
You cared about the people around you.
You always left a room better than you found it.
You were that person who just made everyone feel better about themselves.
You gave food to the hungry, money to the poor.
You opened the doors to those who couldn’t.
You helped the ones who never asked for help.
And yet you were told NO for the things you wanted most in life.
I know you want to give up.
You want to stop believing in the goodness.
But I won’t let you.
I know it doesn’t make any sense to keep trying. To keep believing.
When will your turn be?
But the Universe rarely works logically.
Just because you give, you work, you try it doesn’t mean you automatically get.
Just because you love someone, it doesn’t mean your love protects them from an illness, from an accident, from the end of their life.
It just means they are loved while they are sick, or in danger and that my friend is everything.
And in the same way, loving life even when it is hard to love is all there is to it.
That is it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Just loving life even when it looks good on someone else instead of you.
I have discovered that the happiest moments take place while witnessing joy on someone else’s hard working day.
Sometimes, you can get lost in their joy more than you would in yours.
I know you are tired. I am too.
I know you feel like you have nothing else to give. I get it.
But I also know you have what it takes for one more crawl, one more climb.
Don’t worry about what happens after.
It has never been about the tomorrows. Or the yesterdays.
It is just about the here, the now, this crawl, this climb.
This fall or rise. (click to tweet!)
As always, I write this letter to you so I can read it to myself.
Let it bless us both.
With thousands of hard working, kind loving days,
Christina
P.S. Have you read Second Firsts and Where Did You Go?
If you haven’t I hope they find their way to you.
I have been working longer hours lately and today I didn’t get a chance to sit and write you a letter. You may think, but this is a letter isn’t it?
It is but it’s not the letter I was going to write.
It is just a letter telling you that I ran out of time.
I know you understand. I know you get it.
What is important to me is to always write to you on Fridays, no matter what.
I will never not write, because I know you wait for this letter.
I learned that the most important thing is to reach out, even if we don’t have the stars and the moon to give out. Even if we don’t have the perfect words.
I want you to know that I am here after a long week at work.
After doing everything I could to live my best life.
I know you did the same thing.
We were both doing it together even thousands of miles apart.
We were living, working, doing the best we could.
So what was your week like?
This is what I would ask you if I was just checking in.
Without the ‘good’ letter.
And you would ask me about my week.
And we would sit.
Sometimes I think about the small villages in Greece.
All the way up the mountain.
With people over 100 years old, sitting with their neighbors outside their doors just watching the world go by together.
I wish we were at the village, sitting with them, staring at the sunrise drinking our coffee and making small talk.
But the kind of small talk that feels divine and calming.
The kind that is made of laughter, without too many words.
Just human noises, chairs moving, people walking by and a few words here and there.
But look at us, I was telling you I wasn’t going to write much of a letter but I couldn’t stop writing.
So wherever you are, whatever you are doing today reach out to someone.
Even if you are tired after a long day. Just call. Write.
Sit out on your porch, see if your neighbor is out there too.
And just like that life will show up. To write itself.
To tell you words of comfort.
To keep you company.
Just like it did here in my letter to you.
Just like it will with your letter to someone else.
With a good letter after all,
Christina
P.S. This week’s podcast was life changing. If you have lost someone you love I hope you listen in here.
What if you were free.
To be what you feel
To scream out your name.
And jump inside the pain
Would you?
Live in it.
Be in it
Without fright.
Just you walking in pleight.
With yourself in mind.
Would you?
Would you do it?
If it was true
To live not feeling blue
To conquer the grief
In brief
In lift of you
Oh Lord,
Your eyes can see me
Your heart can hear me
You didn’t leave
You just waited for me
To scream my own name
And swim inside my own pain.
Is the only way to be beside you
I knew it then
When it felt like I was spent
Inside each day’s lens
Your lens.
Your parallels
Inside the grief
You left for me
So I could be free to sleep
And wake inside your plane.
Between the edges of your Grace
In Light.
In Dark.
In Heavenly Land.
With poetry,
Christina
P.S. We did it. We recorded 100 episodes of the Dear Life Podcast.
And we celebrated with the stars.
Enjoy this fun conversation with Astrologist Debra Silverman. Listen here: dearlifepodcast.com/episodes/ep100
I have been seeing a therapist lately.
We are trying to figure out how the heck did I change so much since the loss of my husband.
Sometimes I wonder, did someone come in and replace me?
I know it sounds crazy and of course nobody replaced me but it feels like someone else is here, certainly not the woman before.
But here is what I really think.
Devastating emotional pain can change our DNA. (Click to tweet!)
Of course nobody has proved that or said that.
But think about it. If food can make us healthy or sick.
Then pain or love (two sides of the same coin) can impact our DNA.
This change is both good and bad of course.
I mean, let me just tell you, I so miss the old Christina.
She socialized a lot.
She had plenty of friends and she was quite a few pounds lighter too. Grief is heavy.
Her life was also simpler. But, here is the big but, the Christina that came after, can write.
Pain left a big pen behind. And she has been using that pen for everything.
And the words she wrote changed her whole life. And the life of many others.
I know you may be thinking, but Christina, great you wrote books but I didn’t get anything good from pain. I HEAR YOU.
But please just keep reading.
At first it doesn’t look like we got anything good.
It took 4 years before the writing started to happen for me.
And even then, I didn’t think anyone would want to read what I was writing.
If you have gone through a loss that broke your heart, the truth is that you have been changed. Yes you have. And not just a little bit. A lot.
But your brain doesn’t want you to know about the changes your DNA has experienced.
Your brain is trying everything it can to keep you the same as before.
The old you. The one who lived in the old life. The one you lost.
You have to find your way to the new you.
The one that is here to replace you.
And yes, yes we will grieve the old you.
Maybe even forever. I do. Still. I wish I could visit her and talk to her.
Hold her hand. But we can’t do that. We have to find the new one.
But how do we?
You have to try new things.
You have to let your curiosity take you places.
There is another you trying to take over. Let them in.
Just say yes, will you?
My therapist said, maybe what happened to you is what happens to a Volcano when it erupts. LAVA. I looked up the definition of Lava on Wikipedia.
And this is what it said.
Lava is molten rock that has been expelled from the interior of a terrestrial planet.
So, find your Lava dear one.
Find it, let it cool off from the heat of the volcano and then let it replace the ghost self with the new one. There is really no other way.
With molten rock,
Christina
P.S.
If you are constantly seeking to understand reality the way I do, I hope you listen in to this week’s podcast interview with Dr. Don Hoffman. Listen here: dearlifepodcast.com/episodes/ep99
I posted a video about the Life Reentry class on facebook the other day and a woman commented under it, why don’t you put some makeup on Christina?
At first, I responded casually.
I did have some makeup on, but it’s been a long day of zoom calls and work.
And then I started thinking about it.
Hmmm. Did I not look good?
Am I getting old?
Maybe I should put on heavier makeup next time so it stays on longer.
I should be more professional.
What was I thinking?
The inner narration paused for a while.
Then I looked in the mirror and saw all of my new wrinkles.
Neck lines and all. The inner narration picked up right where it left off.
Well, you are approaching 50 what did you think was going to happen?
You weren’t going to look good forever.
The days of your good looks are gone.
And just like that.
A random stranger had all this power.
I know you too have probably experienced similar comments about the choices you make with your physical body.
Aging is such a big loss for women.
The world is harsh towards wrinkles, naked faces, imperfect skins.
Why don’t men have to wear makeup?
High heels anyone? (Click to tweet!)
To the woman who was curious about my no makeup face I know you only asked because someone else asked you the same question.
Probably early on in your life, and you may not even remember it. I get it.
I have lived in that same world you have.
And now together we will walk out of it.
Not because there is anything wrong with wearing makeup, but not wearing it should not take away from our value. The intelligence that lives behind the eyeshadow.
The humor that lurks under the lipstick.
The modern woman has many faces.
And all of them belong to her.
If you are a man reading this letter I know you already loved a woman just the way she chose to be.
If you are a woman reading this letter don’t let anyone dictate your looks.
And if you are non binary thank you for paving the way towards a non judgmental world.
Where self expression is exactly what it sounds like.
With eye shadows,
Christina
P.S. We are about to close the doors to the Life Reentry Registration class. May you find your way there if it feels right for where you are in your life. REENTER HERE: https://lifereentry.com/life-reentry-class/
It was not like any other day.
Something was in the air.
A heaviness, with no name.
A knowing. A goodbye.
An Ending. A full stop.
And it was known.
Nothing could prevent it. Nothing at all.
It was coming. Like all endings do.
The Ending arrived quietly. Almost like a whisper.
“I am here, and I need to end this.” It murmured.
“But why do you have to be here Ending?” I asked.
“Can’t we have a new beginning without you?”
“This kind of beginning requires me to end some things.” Ending said
“But the things you want to end are things I still need.” I said.
“Yes they are.” Ending said
“So, then don’t visit with me.” I replied.
“It’s too late, I am already here. You must let go.”
“Let go.” Ending whispered again.
“Now.”
As I started to let go, the air moved.
My sadness breathed easier.
“Do you see her coming in?” Ending said and pointed towards the ocean.
I looked but there was nothing.
“Keep looking.” Ending said.
“At first, it will look like nothing is coming.
Keep looking.
Beginnings are formless at first. (Click to tweet!)
Especially as I am still on my way out.
The further I go, the more you will start to see your beginning clearly.” Ending said and I could barely hear it anymore.
My heart was squashed.
My knees were trembling.
I was on my own now.
Looking for my new beginning.
And as I was standing there, just like that, my beginning appeared in front of me.
She was bigger than I had expected.
At first I could not see all of her.
But the parts I could see surprised me.
This beginning was different to any other beginnings.
She was vaster than the ocean itself.
I sat down, put my hands on my face and cried.
Oh ending, I get it now.
The letting go.
You ending things I thought I still needed.
Of course.
You were right all along.
With an ending and a beginning,
Christina
PS: Register for the next Life Reentry class. 10 days to go: https://lifereentry.com/life-reentry-class/