#Mirabai Bush

[konmarkimageswords]

"When you die, where your consciousness is at the moment of death is a reflection of your level of evolution. If you are ready for the transformation that occurs at the moment of death, when there is a dissolving of the control mechanism and an intensification of all the energies, and you are not identified with all that so that you have equanimity through it, you can witness from a place of presence. You can witness the entire process of dying, and your consciousness doesn’t flicker. Most people, however, are attached to some way of looking at the world, and when that starts to dissolve at the moment of death, they go unconscious. They go through the process unconsciously and pick up the thread later on, because it happens too fast and requires letting go too fast. So the art is to let go before you die, so that when you die, there is no letting go required. That’s the most evolved state".

-Ram Dass, Walking Each Other Home: Conversations on Loving and Dying

In Walking Each Other Home, Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush explore the ways in which we can be present with dying, and help ourselves and others leave this world consciously. Through masterful storytelling and practical guidance, these two teachers offer an intimate, thoughtful, and uplifting exploration of the greatest of human mysteries—and show us how death gives us an unparalleled opening to cultivate gratitude, compassion, mindfulness, and an abiding joy in the simple beauty of living.

https://www.ramdass.org/walking-each-other-home/

https://www.ramdass.org/memento-mori-an-excerpt-from-walking-each-other-home/

https://shop.ramdass.org/products/walking-each-other-home

https://beherenownetwork.com/here-and-now-ep-133-walking-each-other-home/

https://parabola.org/2018/07/28/going-home-by-ram-dass-mirabai-bush/

https://www.resources.soundstrue.com/podcast/ram-dass-and-mirabai-bush-walking-each-other-home/

https://www.lionsroar.com/mirabai-bush-and-ram-dass-on-bringing-fear-close/

https://www.yogajournal.com/lifestyle/spiritual-leader-ram-dass-on-zen-and-the-art-of-dying/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlfH-ENSoZw&t=2s

[radical-revolution]

If we are to help heal the world, we need to remember that it is a sacred place. Our actions need to be positive statements, reminders that even in the worst times there is a world worth struggling for. We need to find ways to keep the vision alive, to acknowledge but not get caught in the dark side, to remember that even the worst aspects of suffering are only part of the whole picture. We need to enter lightly.

Entering lightly means not ignoring suffering but treating it gently. We don’t want to ignore another’s pain, but our becoming depressed or angry about it doesn’t relieve it and may increase it. The delicate balance is in allowing ourselves to feel the pain fully, to be sad or angry or hurt by it, but not be so weighted down by it that we are unable to act to relieve it. It is a matter of ends and means again: to create a caring, loving, peaceful world, we need to act with care and love and peace.

Easy to say, you may think, remembering your heavy hearts, tears, and anger when you first saw babies in Ethiopian refugee camps dying from malnutrition. But it is exactly at these times – in the presence of pain, injustice, and horror – that our equilibrium is most needed. How can we keep it? Meditation can help; singing or walking can help; talking with people we respect can help; simply being quiet with ourselves can help.

It is the continuing work of life: of learning to trust that the universe is unfolding exactly as it should, no matter how it looks to us; learning to appreciate that each of us has a part in nurturing this interconnectedness whole and healing it where it is torn; discovering what our individual contribution can be, then giving ourselves fully to it. Demanding as that sounds, it is what, in the spiritual sense, we are all here for, and compassionate action gives us yet one more opportunity to live it. It is an opportunity to cooperate with the universe, to be part of what the Chinese call the great river of the Tao...

•

Excerpt from Compassion in Action: Setting out on the Path of Service by Ram Dass & Mirabai Bush.

•

[parabola-magazine]

“I know our home in this world is not our real home, that it’s a temporary shelter, and that as much as we like it, we will have to give it up. Our real home is in the soul. Awareness of death is a way to awaken to this truth and to lead a happier life.” 

–Ram Dass with Mirabai Bush on welcoming the end of the journey in our new Fall 2018 issue, The Journey Home. 

Illustration: Frances Sinclair, from Indigenous Flowers of the Hawaiian Islands, 1885

Read more.

#RamDass #death #life #journey

[starborn1941]

Choose Your Own by Mirabai Bush, Ram Dass | Spiritual Practice

Choose Your Own by Mirabai Bush, Ram Dass | Spiritual Practice

Ram Dass recalls how difficult he found it to follow his spiritual teacher’s advice that he “love everyone.�� He decided to work on it by focusing his attention daily on Casper Weinberger, then U.S. Secretary of Defense. This, we can assure you, is a very difficult and powerful practice. Choose your own “Casper.” “There was a time when my aggravation with the system focused on Caspar Weinberger,…

[inspirenationshow]

Lessons from Ram Dass on LOVE AND DYING & HOW TO LIVE YOUR MOST MAGNIFICENT LIFE! with Mirabai Bush

If you’ve ever wanted to learn more about yourself and want to live your most magnificent life, then do we have the Walking Each Other Home show for you.

Today I’ll be talking with Mirabai Bush, spiritual teacher, best-selling author, and co-author along with Ram Dass of several very special books, including one of the most beautiful and perhaps most important books I’ve ever read, and a new all-time favorite, Walking Each Other Home: Conversations on Loving and Dying.

That is just what I want to talk with her about today, about conversations on love and dying, and what it means for you.

Walking Each Other Home Self-Improvement & Self-Help Topics Include:

How did Mirabai first meet Ram Dass?

Who is Neem Karoli Baba, affectionately known as Majaraji?

What are our possibilities as human beings?

What does it mean to look inside yourself all day – and how does it change you?

What did Mirabai learn from her first experience in India with death, and what can we learn from it?

What does it mean (from Ram Dass) to snuggle up to one’s suffering?

And to snuggle up to death?

What does it mean to shred roles and why is it so beneficial for us?

What happened to Mirabai that nearly killed her, and how did it change her perspective?

What can we learn about emptiness, zen and the meaning of life from Zen Teacher (Norman Fischer)?

What can Ram Dass share with us about living?

What can we learn from Ram Dass about his first experience with psychedelics?

What is interconnection and how does it affect our lives?

What do we need to know about how to die???

What does it truly mean to let go of attachment?

What is the importance of a gratitude practice?

What is the importance of hugging?

What is a mala ceremony and how can it help us???

To find out more visit:

https://www.ramdass.org/

www.contemplativemind.org/practices/tree

Additional Resources: 

www.automaticwriting.com The Most Revolutionary, life-changing tool to help you tap into your inner-wisdom

www.inspirenationuniversity.com

…….

Michael and Jessica have kickstarted their RV trip! Follow their exciting journey and get even more great tools, tips, and behind-the-scenes access. Go to https://www.patreon.com/inspirenation

For free meditations, weekly tips, stories, and similar shows visit: https://inspirenationshow.com/  

Follow Inspire Nation, and the lives of Michael and Jessica, on Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/InspireNationLive/ 

Find us on TikTok - https://www.tiktok.com/@inspirenationshow

Check out this episode!

[miss-rosen]

“Practice is allowing everything in your life to wake you up.” ~Mirabai Bush Artwork: Craig LaRotonda

[elluendifad]

The book of this title by Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush is very wonderful. Helps lift the sadness of impermanence, adds a little joy.

“we’re all just walking each other home.”

— ram dass (via mollyganley)

[itunesbooks]

Walking Each Other Home - Ram Dass & Mirabai Bush

We all sit on the edge of a mystery. We have only known this life, so dying scares us—and we are all dying. But what if dying were perfectly safe? What would it look like if you could approach dying with curiosity and love, in service of other beings? What if dying were the ultimate spiritual practice?   Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush began their friendship more than four decades ago at the foot of their guru, Neem Karoli Baba, also known as Maharaj-ji. He transmitted to them a simple philosophy: love everyone, tell the truth, and give up attachment to material things. After impacting millions of people through the years with these teachings, they have reunited once more with Walking Each Other Home to enlighten and engage readers on the spiritual opportunities within the dying process. They generously share intimate personal experiences and timeless practices, told with courage, humor, and heart, gently exploring every aspect of this journey. And, at 86 years old, Ram Dass reminds us, “This time we have a real deadline.”   In Walking Each Other Home , readers will learn about: guidelines for being a “loving rock” for the dying, how to grieve fully and authentically, how to transform a fear of death, leaving a spiritual legacy, creating a sacred space for dying, and much more.   “Everybody you have ever loved is a part of the fabric of your being now,” says Ram Dass. The body may die, but the soul remains. Death is an invitation to a new kind of relationship, in the place where we are all One. Join these two lifelong friends and spiritual luminaries as they explore what it means to live and die consciously, remember who we really are, and illuminate the path we walk together.   http://bit.ly/2EWVcap

[mickeypamo]

‘Social Justice, Compassion in Action, and Becoming Free’ with Mirabai Bush

[amyddaniels]

3 Life-Changing Strategies for Processing Grief

We learned unforgettable lessons at a yoga retreat designed to help you work through profound loss.

Over coffee one afternoon, a friend asked if I’d read Mirabi Starr’s latest book Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics. Starr’s first book, a new translation of Dark Night of the Soul, came out the day her fourteen-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident. Today, Starr speaks globally on contemplative practice and the transformational power of grief and loss. A certified bereavement counselor, she helps mourners harness the transformational power of loss. No, I had not read Wild Mercy, but the title immediately grabbed me. It seemed to me that with so many of us facing struggles in this era—loss of loved ones, betrayal, abandonment, family estrangement—we could all use some Wild Mercy and not a moment too soon. Myself included.

In the past five years, I have suffered all of the above, as well as the loss of a beloved uncle, named Jan. He had contacted me a year or two before his death and though we had little contact the decades prior, we found we were kindred, and not just by blood. He was a gifted poet and we shared a spiritual affinity. We were both misfits, misunderstood in our families. We were both recovering alcoholics, sobering up within a year of each other, our respective recoveries unknown to each other until the short time we were able to share before he died. Once reconnected, he called me every week. He listened to my poems, read my writings, talked spirit with me. My uncle’s death and multiple other recent losses had brought a lifetime of trauma and complicated grief to my door. I knew there was no easy fix.

The synchronicity in my life is often reflected in the magical relationship I have with Facebook. As I was reading Wild Mercy, I put the book down to check in on a Facebook group I’m part of. What I saw made my heart thrum. Mirabai Starr, a recent post read, had a last-minute opening in her annual Fall Equinox retreat: Deepening Your Story of Loss and Transformation. And it was at Ghost Ranch, a place in New Mexico I had been longing to spend time at.

I quickly shot off an email to see if the spot was still available. The answer came quickly: “Yes.”

I was going to answer the unmistakable call of the desert. Wild Mercy was an invitation. In the introduction, Starr writes, “We are making a flying carpet here to carry us through our lives as contemporary mystics masquerading as ordinary people—people who hear the call to turn inward and to step up, to cultivate a contemplative life, and to offer the fruits in service.”

The First Night of the Retreat

As we gathered that first night in the living room of our temporary new home, the beautiful Casa del Sol, Starr’s assistants held out a deck of Medicine cards for us to choose from. The Medicine cards, whose teachings vary from tribe to tribe, were developed by Jamie Sams, an artist and writer of Cherokee, Seneca, and French descent. The card I pulled was the turtle.

I'm a runner, a sprinter, a mover. Closer to a hare than a turtle, so I was perplexed. But then Starr suggested that the Medicine animal card we each had drawn might give us insight into our writing process, as well as offer other teachings. I had to laugh. When it comes to my writing process, I am definitely a turtle! Though I write a lot, it is agonizingly slow. As the beautiful New Mexico light faded, the procession felt sacred and my arms prickled with intimations of what was to come.

3 Strategies for Transforming Grief

Here, three things I learned from Starr, and the turtle, during my five-night stay.

1. Rely on community and honor your own process.

Each morning we met and opened with a song and the reading of poetry followed by meditation. The music and poetry were carefully curated. I started to realize that these sessions were creating a bond or container among the retreat participants that was capable of holding the depth of grief our community carried.

Some of the participants had lost children to suicide, overdose, and sudden accidents. Some had lost spouses, brothers, sisters, parents. Some were estranged from family—four most agonizingly from their adult children (and beloved grandchildren) who had shut them out of their lives.

The author with two newfound friends at Mirabi Starr's retreat.

The medicine card I’d drawn became another thing, beyond community, that helped me feel supported, and would ultimately help me honor my own grieving process. In some Southwestern Native American tribes, the turtle is an ancient symbol for Mother Earth from which our lives, creativity, protection, and longevity evolve. To the Southwest Native American peoples (Navajo, Zuni, Hope, Santo Domingo, Pueblo and others), the turtle represents water. In addition to the turtle’s role in Native American traditions, the turtle takes also takes a seat at the door of most Hindu temples. In Hinduism, the turtle carries the world on her back and is one of 10 avatars of the Hindu god Vishnu. The turtle represents the feminine and serves as a bridge between external and internal world, a reminder of how to withdraw from the senses and go within—a practice known as pratyahara.

As the retreat unfolded, turtle led me within, where real healing happens. And although I might have gone to the deepest and darkest places inside me, I did not go alone. I had the turtle's medicine, a cadre of angels beside me (my fellow retreaters), and a wise woman who knew the way (Starr). I was able to drop my guard—along with the heavy burden of grief. I wasn’t escaping my loss, but truly honoring myself in the midst of it.

2. Write it out and acknowledge pain.

In Wild Mercy, Starr writes, “It is by showing up for the full encounter with reality that we discover our hidden wholeness, which was, of course, present all along." This process starts with acknowledging pain.

It is in the ground of our pain and nowhere else, where we heal. But first, we line up our support system, we find community. And then we write. After daily morning meditation and readings, we were given a writing prompt and assigned to groups of four so we could share our writings. Then we read our writings in turn, listening carefully. We didn’t respond to one another with suggestions or praise, but rather, we sat in silence and let it sink in. "None of us is broken," Starr said. Therefore, we weren't to offer tissues (they stop the tears) or to try to fix or console each other. "We aren't therapists." Everyone was allowed to be exactly where they were; it was safe to touch the ground of our pain, to write about it, and to share. We were given an opportunity to engage in fierce and radical acts of truth-telling, to take the losses that had brought us there and offer them up for alchemical transformation. "In the pain that will arise with your writing," Starr advised, "will come the gold." By the end of the five days and after, I discovered I had softened around the pain. With allowance, rather than the usual contraction, not only did the pain have room to dissipate, but I now had a helpful process going forward.

3. Take your time.

Loss is a portal to spiritual transformation. In the mystery of grieving, lies the alchemy and space for healing and awakening. One day on the retreat, we were guided on a hike up to Chimney Rock and a spectacular view of the Piedra Lumbre basin. I found myself struggling to keep up and fell back. Several of the retreat participants hung back with me, though they easily could have sprinted ahead. Embarrassed, I urged them to go ahead and insisted that it was the heat that was bothering me. As I took a break inside the scant shade of a small bush, my companions encouraged me to slow down, saying “It’s not that hot. You’re just moving too fast.” But I couldn’t seem to process that and after each break, sprinted ahead again.

Finally, one of them said, “Kelly, wasn’t the medicine card you drew the turtle?” And it was then that it hit me. The turtle’s message was telling me it was okay to slow down, to take my time, and to allow community to hold me, like a turtle’s shell. This brought tears, because I am a survivor and the way I survived a lifetime of adversity was to power through, to push myself, to keep going no matter what.

Laying down the burden, breaking open, community and belonging, listening, and allowing uncertainty, had brought me to this lesson on the climb: No matter the depth of loss or adversity life brings, I am supported and held. I can rest on the turtle’s back at last and let go of struggle. I didn’t have to push through anymore. I could, like a turtle, stick my neck out, and still remain protected, safe within my shell. 

[radical-revolution]

If we are to help heal the world, we need to remember that it is a sacred place. Our actions need to be positive statements, reminders that even in the worst times there is a world worth struggling for. We need to find ways to keep the vision alive, to acknowledge but not get caught in the dark side, to remember that even the worst aspects of suffering are only part of the whole picture. We need to enter lightly.

Entering lightly means not ignoring suffering but treating it gently. We don’t want to ignore another’s pain, but our becoming depressed or angry about it doesn’t relieve it and may increase it. The delicate balance is in allowing ourselves to feel the pain fully, to be sad or angry or hurt by it, but not be so weighted down by it that we are unable to act to relieve it. It is a matter of ends and means again: to create a caring, loving, peaceful world, we need to act with care and love and peace.

Easy to say, you may think, remembering your heavy hearts, tears, and anger when you first saw babies in Ethiopian refugee camps dying from malnutrition. But it is exactly at these times – in the presence of pain, injustice, and horror – that our equilibrium is most needed. How can we keep it? Meditation can help; singing or walking can help; talking with people we respect can help; simply being quiet with ourselves can help.

It is the continuing work of life: of learning to trust that the universe is unfolding exactly as it should, no matter how it looks to us; learning to appreciate that each of us has a part in nurturing this interconnectedness whole and healing it where it is torn; discovering what our individual contribution can be, then giving ourselves fully to it. Demanding as that sounds, it is what, in the spiritual sense, we are all here for, and compassionate action gives us yet one more opportunity to live it. It is an opportunity to cooperate with the universe, to be part of what the Chinese call the great river of the Tao...

—Excerpt from Compassion in Action: Setting out on the Path of Service by Ram Dass & Mirabai Bush.

[parabola-magazine]

Death is completely safe; it’s like taking off a tight shoe....I have been able to work with the dying and bring to them, in the face of the unknown, qualities of equanimity and peace. In those moments of being with a person who is approaching death, I find that only truth works. And so I am forced to examine and reexamine the depths of my understanding of life after death. This is the crucible through which what I am going to share has passed.  —Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush, “Going Home"

In Parabola’s latest free monthly podcast, editor Betsy Cornwell shares Ram Dass and Mirabai Bush’s “Going Home” and Emily Dickinson’s poem “Our Journey Had Advanced.” 

Listen at Parabola.org. Pictured: Illustration by Frances Sinclair, from Indigenous Flowers of the Hawaiian Islands, 1885

[krisiunicornio]

We learned unforgettable lessons at a yoga retreat designed to help you work through profound loss.

Over coffee one afternoon, a friend asked if I’d read Mirabi Starr’s latest book Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics. Starr’s first book, a new translation of Dark Night of the Soul, came out the day her fourteen-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident. Today, Starr speaks globally on contemplative practice and the transformational power of grief and loss. A certified bereavement counselor, she helps mourners harness the transformational power of loss. No, I had not read Wild Mercy, but the title immediately grabbed me. It seemed to me that with so many of us facing struggles in this era—loss of loved ones, betrayal, abandonment, family estrangement—we could all use some Wild Mercy and not a moment too soon. Myself included.

In the past five years, I have suffered all of the above, as well as the loss of a beloved uncle, named Jan. He had contacted me a year or two before his death and though we had little contact the decades prior, we found we were kindred, and not just by blood. He was a gifted poet and we shared a spiritual affinity. We were both misfits, misunderstood in our families. We were both recovering alcoholics, sobering up within a year of each other, our respective recoveries unknown to each other until the short time we were able to share before he died. Once reconnected, he called me every week. He listened to my poems, read my writings, talked spirit with me. My uncle’s death and multiple other recent losses had brought a lifetime of trauma and complicated grief to my door. I knew there was no easy fix.

The synchronicity in my life is often reflected in the magical relationship I have with Facebook. As I was reading Wild Mercy, I put the book down to check in on a Facebook group I’m part of. What I saw made my heart thrum. Mirabai Starr, a recent post read, had a last-minute opening in her annual Fall Equinox retreat: Deepening Your Story of Loss and Transformation. And it was at Ghost Ranch, a place in New Mexico I had been longing to spend time at.

I quickly shot off an email to see if the spot was still available. The answer came quickly: “Yes.”

I was going to answer the unmistakable call of the desert. Wild Mercy was an invitation. In the introduction, Starr writes, “We are making a flying carpet here to carry us through our lives as contemporary mystics masquerading as ordinary people—people who hear the call to turn inward and to step up, to cultivate a contemplative life, and to offer the fruits in service.”

The First Night of the Retreat

As we gathered that first night in the living room of our temporary new home, the beautiful Casa del Sol, Starr’s assistants held out a deck of Medicine cards for us to choose from. The Medicine cards, whose teachings vary from tribe to tribe, were developed by Jamie Sams, an artist and writer of Cherokee, Seneca, and French descent. The card I pulled was the turtle.

I'm a runner, a sprinter, a mover. Closer to a hare than a turtle, so I was perplexed. But then Starr suggested that the Medicine animal card we each had drawn might give us insight into our writing process, as well as offer other teachings. I had to laugh. When it comes to my writing process, I am definitely a turtle! Though I write a lot, it is agonizingly slow. As the beautiful New Mexico light faded, the procession felt sacred and my arms prickled with intimations of what was to come.

3 Strategies for Transforming Grief

Here, three things I learned from Starr, and the turtle, during my five-night stay.

1. Rely on community and honor your own process.

Each morning we met and opened with a song and the reading of poetry followed by meditation. The music and poetry were carefully curated. I started to realize that these sessions were creating a bond or container among the retreat participants that was capable of holding the depth of grief our community carried.

Some of the participants had lost children to suicide, overdose, and sudden accidents. Some had lost spouses, brothers, sisters, parents. Some were estranged from family—four most agonizingly from their adult children (and beloved grandchildren) who had shut them out of their lives.

The author with two newfound friends at Mirabi Starr's retreat.

The medicine card I’d drawn became another thing, beyond community, that helped me feel supported, and would ultimately help me honor my own grieving process. In some Southwestern Native American tribes, the turtle is an ancient symbol for Mother Earth from which our lives, creativity, protection, and longevity evolve. To the Southwest Native American peoples (Navajo, Zuni, Hope, Santo Domingo, Pueblo and others), the turtle represents water. In addition to the turtle’s role in Native American traditions, the turtle takes also takes a seat at the door of most Hindu temples. In Hinduism, the turtle carries the world on her back and is one of 10 avatars of the Hindu god Vishnu. The turtle represents the feminine and serves as a bridge between external and internal world, a reminder of how to withdraw from the senses and go within—a practice known as pratyahara.

As the retreat unfolded, turtle led me within, where real healing happens. And although I might have gone to the deepest and darkest places inside me, I did not go alone. I had the turtle's medicine, a cadre of angels beside me (my fellow retreaters), and a wise woman who knew the way (Starr). I was able to drop my guard—along with the heavy burden of grief. I wasn’t escaping my loss, but truly honoring myself in the midst of it.

2. Write it out and acknowledge pain.

In Wild Mercy, Starr writes, “It is by showing up for the full encounter with reality that we discover our hidden wholeness, which was, of course, present all along." This process starts with acknowledging pain.

It is in the ground of our pain and nowhere else, where we heal. But first, we line up our support system, we find community. And then we write. After daily morning meditation and readings, we were given a writing prompt and assigned to groups of four so we could share our writings. Then we read our writings in turn, listening carefully. We didn’t respond to one another with suggestions or praise, but rather, we sat in silence and let it sink in. "None of us is broken," Starr said. Therefore, we weren't to offer tissues (they stop the tears) or to try to fix or console each other. "We aren't therapists." Everyone was allowed to be exactly where they were; it was safe to touch the ground of our pain, to write about it, and to share. We were given an opportunity to engage in fierce and radical acts of truth-telling, to take the losses that had brought us there and offer them up for alchemical transformation. "In the pain that will arise with your writing," Starr advised, "will come the gold." By the end of the five days and after, I discovered I had softened around the pain. With allowance, rather than the usual contraction, not only did the pain have room to dissipate, but I now had a helpful process going forward.

3. Take your time.

Loss is a portal to spiritual transformation. In the mystery of grieving, lies the alchemy and space for healing and awakening. One day on the retreat, we were guided on a hike up to Chimney Rock and a spectacular view of the Piedra Lumbre basin. I found myself struggling to keep up and fell back. Several of the retreat participants hung back with me, though they easily could have sprinted ahead. Embarrassed, I urged them to go ahead and insisted that it was the heat that was bothering me. As I took a break inside the scant shade of a small bush, my companions encouraged me to slow down, saying “It’s not that hot. You’re just moving too fast.” But I couldn’t seem to process that and after each break, sprinted ahead again.

Finally, one of them said, “Kelly, wasn’t the medicine card you drew the turtle?” And it was then that it hit me. The turtle’s message was telling me it was okay to slow down, to take my time, and to allow community to hold me, like a turtle’s shell. This brought tears, because I am a survivor and the way I survived a lifetime of adversity was to power through, to push myself, to keep going no matter what.

Laying down the burden, breaking open, community and belonging, listening, and allowing uncertainty, had brought me to this lesson on the climb: No matter the depth of loss or adversity life brings, I am supported and held. I can rest on the turtle’s back at last and let go of struggle. I didn’t have to push through anymore. I could, like a turtle, stick my neck out, and still remain protected, safe within my shell. 

[cedarrrun]

We learned unforgettable lessons at a yoga retreat designed to help you work through profound loss.

Over coffee one afternoon, a friend asked if I’d read Mirabi Starr’s latest book Wild Mercy: Living the Fierce and Tender Wisdom of the Women Mystics. Starr’s first book, a new translation of Dark Night of the Soul, came out the day her fourteen-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident. Today, Starr speaks globally on contemplative practice and the transformational power of grief and loss. A certified bereavement counselor, she helps mourners harness the transformational power of loss. No, I had not read Wild Mercy, but the title immediately grabbed me. It seemed to me that with so many of us facing struggles in this era—loss of loved ones, betrayal, abandonment, family estrangement—we could all use some Wild Mercy and not a moment too soon. Myself included.

In the past five years, I have suffered all of the above, as well as the loss of a beloved uncle, named Jan. He had contacted me a year or two before his death and though we had little contact the decades prior, we found we were kindred, and not just by blood. He was a gifted poet and we shared a spiritual affinity. We were both misfits, misunderstood in our families. We were both recovering alcoholics, sobering up within a year of each other, our respective recoveries unknown to each other until the short time we were able to share before he died. Once reconnected, he called me every week. He listened to my poems, read my writings, talked spirit with me. My uncle’s death and multiple other recent losses had brought a lifetime of trauma and complicated grief to my door. I knew there was no easy fix.

The synchronicity in my life is often reflected in the magical relationship I have with Facebook. As I was reading Wild Mercy, I put the book down to check in on a Facebook group I’m part of. What I saw made my heart thrum. Mirabai Starr, a recent post read, had a last-minute opening in her annual Fall Equinox retreat: Deepening Your Story of Loss and Transformation. And it was at Ghost Ranch, a place in New Mexico I had been longing to spend time at.

I quickly shot off an email to see if the spot was still available. The answer came quickly: “Yes.”

I was going to answer the unmistakable call of the desert. Wild Mercy was an invitation. In the introduction, Starr writes, “We are making a flying carpet here to carry us through our lives as contemporary mystics masquerading as ordinary people—people who hear the call to turn inward and to step up, to cultivate a contemplative life, and to offer the fruits in service.”

The First Night of the Retreat

As we gathered that first night in the living room of our temporary new home, the beautiful Casa del Sol, Starr’s assistants held out a deck of Medicine cards for us to choose from. The Medicine cards, whose teachings vary from tribe to tribe, were developed by Jamie Sams, an artist and writer of Cherokee, Seneca, and French descent. The card I pulled was the turtle.

I'm a runner, a sprinter, a mover. Closer to a hare than a turtle, so I was perplexed. But then Starr suggested that the Medicine animal card we each had drawn might give us insight into our writing process, as well as offer other teachings. I had to laugh. When it comes to my writing process, I am definitely a turtle! Though I write a lot, it is agonizingly slow. As the beautiful New Mexico light faded, the procession felt sacred and my arms prickled with intimations of what was to come.

3 Strategies for Transforming Grief

Here, three things I learned from Starr, and the turtle, during my five-night stay.

1. Rely on community and honor your own process.

Each morning we met and opened with a song and the reading of poetry followed by meditation. The music and poetry were carefully curated. I started to realize that these sessions were creating a bond or container among the retreat participants that was capable of holding the depth of grief our community carried.

Some of the participants had lost children to suicide, overdose, and sudden accidents. Some had lost spouses, brothers, sisters, parents. Some were estranged from family—four most agonizingly from their adult children (and beloved grandchildren) who had shut them out of their lives.

The author with two newfound friends at Mirabi Starr's retreat.

The medicine card I’d drawn became another thing, beyond community, that helped me feel supported, and would ultimately help me honor my own grieving process. In some Southwestern Native American tribes, the turtle is an ancient symbol for Mother Earth from which our lives, creativity, protection, and longevity evolve. To the Southwest Native American peoples (Navajo, Zuni, Hope, Santo Domingo, Pueblo and others), the turtle represents water. In addition to the turtle’s role in Native American traditions, the turtle takes also takes a seat at the door of most Hindu temples. In Hinduism, the turtle carries the world on her back and is one of 10 avatars of the Hindu god Vishnu. The turtle represents the feminine and serves as a bridge between external and internal world, a reminder of how to withdraw from the senses and go within—a practice known as pratyahara.

As the retreat unfolded, turtle led me within, where real healing happens. And although I might have gone to the deepest and darkest places inside me, I did not go alone. I had the turtle's medicine, a cadre of angels beside me (my fellow retreaters), and a wise woman who knew the way (Starr). I was able to drop my guard—along with the heavy burden of grief. I wasn’t escaping my loss, but truly honoring myself in the midst of it.

2. Write it out and acknowledge pain.

In Wild Mercy, Starr writes, “It is by showing up for the full encounter with reality that we discover our hidden wholeness, which was, of course, present all along." This process starts with acknowledging pain.

It is in the ground of our pain and nowhere else, where we heal. But first, we line up our support system, we find community. And then we write. After daily morning meditation and readings, we were given a writing prompt and assigned to groups of four so we could share our writings. Then we read our writings in turn, listening carefully. We didn’t respond to one another with suggestions or praise, but rather, we sat in silence and let it sink in. "None of us is broken," Starr said. Therefore, we weren't to offer tissues (they stop the tears) or to try to fix or console each other. "We aren't therapists." Everyone was allowed to be exactly where they were; it was safe to touch the ground of our pain, to write about it, and to share. We were given an opportunity to engage in fierce and radical acts of truth-telling, to take the losses that had brought us there and offer them up for alchemical transformation. "In the pain that will arise with your writing," Starr advised, "will come the gold." By the end of the five days and after, I discovered I had softened around the pain. With allowance, rather than the usual contraction, not only did the pain have room to dissipate, but I now had a helpful process going forward.

3. Take your time.

Loss is a portal to spiritual transformation. In the mystery of grieving, lies the alchemy and space for healing and awakening. One day on the retreat, we were guided on a hike up to Chimney Rock and a spectacular view of the Piedra Lumbre basin. I found myself struggling to keep up and fell back. Several of the retreat participants hung back with me, though they easily could have sprinted ahead. Embarrassed, I urged them to go ahead and insisted that it was the heat that was bothering me. As I took a break inside the scant shade of a small bush, my companions encouraged me to slow down, saying “It’s not that hot. You’re just moving too fast.” But I couldn’t seem to process that and after each break, sprinted ahead again.

Finally, one of them said, “Kelly, wasn’t the medicine card you drew the turtle?” And it was then that it hit me. The turtle’s message was telling me it was okay to slow down, to take my time, and to allow community to hold me, like a turtle’s shell. This brought tears, because I am a survivor and the way I survived a lifetime of adversity was to power through, to push myself, to keep going no matter what.

Laying down the burden, breaking open, community and belonging, listening, and allowing uncertainty, had brought me to this lesson on the climb: No matter the depth of loss or adversity life brings, I am supported and held. I can rest on the turtle’s back at last and let go of struggle. I didn’t have to push through anymore. I could, like a turtle, stick my neck out, and still remain protected, safe within my shell. 

[inspirenationshow]

HOW TO LIVE YOUR MOST MAGNIFICENT LIFE BY LEARNING FROM LIFE'S END! Ram Dass Co-author Mirabai Bush | Health | Inspire

If you’ve ever wanted to learn more about yourself and living your most magnificent life, then do we have the Walking Each Other Home show for you.

Today I’ll be talking with Mirabai Bush, spiritual teacher, best-selling author, and co-author along with Ram Dass of several very special books, including one of the most beautiful and perhaps most important books I’ve ever Read, and a new ALL TIME FAVORITE Walking Each Other Home.

And that’s just what I want to talk with her about today,

About conversations on love and dying, and what it means for you.

Walking Each Other Home Self-Improvement & Self-Help Topics Include:

How did Mirabai first meet Ram Dass?

Who is Neem Karoli Baba, affectionately known as Majaraji?

What are our possibilities as human beings?

What does it mean to look inside yourself all day – and how does it change you?

What did Mirabai learn from her first experience in India with death, and what can we learn from it?

What does it mean (from Ram Dass) to snuggle up to one’s suffering?

And to snuggle up to death?

What does it mean to shred roles and why is it so beneficial for us?

What happened to Mirabai that nearly killed her, and how did it change her perspective?

What can we learn about emptiness, zen and the meaning of life from Zen Teacher (Norman Fischer)?

What can Ram Dass share with us about living?

What can we learn from Ram Dass about his first experience with pyschedelics?

What is interconnection and how does it affect our lives?

What do we need to know about how to die???

What does it truly mean to let go of attachment?

What’s the importance of a gratitude practice?

What’s the importance of hugging?

What’s a mala ceremony and how can it help us???

For more info visit: RamDass.com

Or Contemplativemind.org/tree

Ram Dass's Co-Author Mirabai Bush on Brilliant Lessons Learned for Living by Facing Life's End! + Guided Meditation | Health | Law of Attraction | Inspiration | Motivation | Spiritual | Spirituality | Self-Improvement | Self-Help | Inspire

Check out this episode!