Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
This recording is from a virtual workshop on October 3rd 2023. This session works with grief.
In this 90 minute workshop we will be working with Three Part breath and Diaphragmatic breath through a trauma-experienced lens. You will also have some time to write and reflect. This video is just my face and voice.
To experience grief is a human experience. However, sometimes it can feel all-consuming. Perhaps it is from this lifetime, from when we were young or maybe it’s as recent as last week. Or perhaps the grief is ancestral, ancient, connecting us to the pain of generations before us. Perhaps every new loss unearths the old; the tender places of sorrow living all throughout our physical bodies. Beyond our individual experiences, the current political climate offers us much to grieve.
To tend to our grief is sacred work. It’s a descent into dark waters of bottomless depth. The work is to figure out how to touch down into it, learn from it, and swim back up to the surface, changed. Grief worker and writer Francis Weller speaks of the power of creating spaces for this: “It grants a profound permission to enter a place of sorrow, to work with it, to explore it’s contours and textures, to become familiar with the landscape of loss.“ To be diligent in the work, we need a space to do so in, a practice. We don’t have to do this work alone. Like Hecate, the goddess of thresholds, the underworld, and poison medicine, we can harness the wisdom and gifts in grief. We can hold torches in the dark for the parts of ourselves still reeling from loss. We are not lost.
This recording is from a virtual workshop on October 3rd 2023. This session works with grief.
In this 90 minute workshop we will be working with Three Part breath and Diaphragmatic breath through a trauma-experienced lens. You will also have some time to write and reflect. This video is just my face and voice.
To experience grief is a human experience. However, sometimes it can feel all-consuming. Perhaps it is from this lifetime, from when we were young or maybe it’s as recent as last week. Or perhaps the grief is ancestral, ancient, connecting us to the pain of generations before us. Perhaps every new loss unearths the old; the tender places of sorrow living all throughout our physical bodies. Beyond our individual experiences, the current political climate offers us much to grieve.
To tend to our grief is sacred work. It’s a descent into dark waters of bottomless depth. The work is to figure out how to touch down into it, learn from it, and swim back up to the surface, changed. Grief worker and writer Francis Weller speaks of the power of creating spaces for this: “It grants a profound permission to enter a place of sorrow, to work with it, to explore it’s contours and textures, to become familiar with the landscape of loss.“ To be diligent in the work, we need a space to do so in, a practice. We don’t have to do this work alone. Like Hecate, the goddess of thresholds, the underworld, and poison medicine, we can harness the wisdom and gifts in grief. We can hold torches in the dark for the parts of ourselves still reeling from loss. We are not lost.
