The boys and I celebrated the last night of Hanukkah with a disgusting meal ala Angelina...really it was remarkably bad. Bodhi had been feeling a little punky all day and after his second bite of beet greens and spinach he gagged. I said, "Spit it out. In fact everyone spit it out. This food is terrible." Unfortunately, Bodhi's belly was already lurching and he began a tremendous display of projectile vomiting where he stood. I was poised nearby, arms out stretched, legs spread wide in the stance of a referee on home base calling "SAFE". I carried him to the sink where he continued unabated and I spent the rest of the evening cleaning, bleaching, rocking, soothing and pampering. Ahh. A celebration of light in preperation for the longest night of the year. An appropriate event for such a night.
Some days, you just have to forget about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter. To break. To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat in the loss of the life you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life. And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath. The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...

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