Grief and a message from a stone

“What you see before you now is not as it always is. It’s not always so beautiful, it is not always so green.”

Some Simple words on grief, and a message from a stone - By Jillian Prince

Apparently, when it's a full moon, things get illuminated. These are the things, I'm told, that if you set an intention, will show up, become visible, so that you can see them larger than life, it seems.

So, grief, or death, for me it has been. It's been showing up for a while now. About eight years, to be honest. Far Out!, As I sit and type, and I write that number, a flurry of memories comes in, and I think to myself, "Shit, Jill, you're in your 49th year, and you think you have only been afraid of death for the last 8!"

As I lay awake this morning, the time when I am wide awake without enough sleep, watching the moonlight streaming through my window and the clock playing funny games, I felt an odd sense of peace despite being awakened by a flurry of cramps, likely induced by hormones or the lack thereof. It prompted me to think about grief, a very funny conversation I had with one of my best mates (thank you if you're reading this), the somatic processing work I've been focusing on lately, life & how it has been unfolding before my eyes. This full moon is so kindly illuminating it all so brightly.

My mind reminded me of a recent morning. I was sitting on the banks of the Darling Barka, on Barkanji Country in Wilcannia NSW, the home of one of my dearest sisters, and I sat there, shocked, reeling from deep grief, and fear.

A PAUSE & A BACKSTORY......

I will give you a bit of backstory on my experiences with grief, as it seems the ego finds it fitting. It appears that the ego wants you to see how much I have lost and how triumphant I must seem to all, to be able to forge forward, comparing my pain and triumphant trail. Anyhow, with a deep sigh, I soften and realise that I am just like you, you are just like me. I am no more or less qualified to speak or write on grief than the next person, and then the importance of it all slips away.

Anyway, I've practiced and tried all things, ways, tricks, gadgets, individuals, and processes to help with it. For a while, I thought grief was just straight forward —you know, like a black coffee without sugar. I didn't realize you could have grief with a dash of shame, guilt, a little fear, or big fear. However, my recent awareness of Moon Cycles has taught me something new. You can attach whatever you like to it... you can make it as delicious or as disgusting as you choose.

You know, I can still remember the knowing I had the moment my grandmother died. I just knew it, right then. I stood up from what I was doing, jumped on my pushbike, and pedaled towards Cobar Hospital. I was 16, sunbathing at the pool with my mates when I felt it. I should mention it was 1990, so no mobile phones existed, and you'd normally get messages over the loudspeaker at the kiosk. But my message was an instinctive feeling in my bones. I quickly threw my clothes on, ran out the gate, grabbed my pink pushy, and rode as fast as I could along the 2km route, but I didn’t make it in time.

I didn't know or feel that my Dad had passed away; I was 18 and just didn't know what to make of it. The timing was catastrophic. In my lifetime we have lost; my clever bright, young with energy enough for ten lives, nephew with he was 9, my niece as a precious and beautiful brand-new baby. My darling grandfather that cared for me like a daughter after my Dad passed. My father inlaw, a powerful man so full of life, until he had had enough, and then wasn’t. My beautiful, incredible, loving, funny, powerful, and exceptional niece, gone in her 29th year. It seems I harbor a fear that I've missed mentioning someone here and a feeling of panic settles in. If i don't get their names on this page, I ask myself, have I forgotten them?

Holy shit, then you think of all the other things you can grieve, where does it stop. You can add the grief and loss of friendships, gone for a reason you may never know, and the grief of not knowing. Grief for the loss of the one true value you thought was like fucking superglue in your biggest partnership, mate ship in life just disintegrating, right before your eyes. That trust, eroded away. Then there is also grief for ideas, the idea of a friendship that could have been, gone, an idea of a dream gone.

I guess Id better get back to the point of this story, back to the banks of the Darling Barka and what had me sitting there, in grief and fear.

THE MOMENT.....

Over the past month, I have been talking with my dear friend whom I love like a sister. She witnessed her mother's decline right before her eyes, and it was difficult. It brought up conversations with my Full Moon-knowing Ki Sisters (iykyk) around death, loss, grief and I wallowed in my fears, read their writings, and attempted to hook onto their experiences to gain their knowledge (here, I would insert rolling-eye and hands-in-the-air emojis if I could, iykyk). Turns out, my next lesson was right at my doorstep.

A call from a friend.

.... A daughter, a sister and a lover gone.

The earth has dropped away. NO, this is not fair. This is not fucking right. This is fucked!

THE CONTEMPLATION

I recently read a post that I can relate to as I reflect on my past experiences. Grief, in any form, does not leave you; it comes with you to work, on holidays, and while you're mowing the lawn or hanging clothes on the line. It waits for you, very patiently, to be ready. It waits for those quiet moments and, when given the opportunity, it will settle upon you; you can no longer hide from it. It engulfs you like a wave, and there you remain until you fully experience its power. I would like to add one more thought to this concept: grief's messages also arrive when you are ready, so that you to see and hear them.

As I sat that day by the river as it flowed past, carp splashed, gums cracked, and their noisy friends squawked, comparing their hollows. I ruminated and mulled. I felt devastated for my friend, for the grief she faced ahead, for her beautiful family, friends, and community. I was angry at our industry, scared for women in our industry, the risks, and everything associated with women achieving in it. As I pondered, I placed those angers and fears, knowing their truest origin, value, and power over me and spoke them into the wind. I sat there, afraid that I too, could one day feel that pain.

And then quietly, as I sat, I could feel it come over me. As I looked around, I could feel & sense the deep, deep sadness of this landscape. I could feel a memory of its traumas. It wasn't something that seeped into you or that you would truly know; it wasn't like that. It was more of a vibration in the air. And I wondered, how the fucking hell. I remembered the significance of the place where I sat to its original people, and I felt the vibration and the enormity of the grief this country has seen and holds. It was heavy, thick, and unwavering. I sat with it for a good while. I let whatever it was pass through me, waited until I could breathe and feel something else, then began to rise.

As I rose from my spot, a black cockatoo feather fell from the tree above. As I thanked her for her gift, a different path to walk home along the river bank was shown. I followed the road, and at the top of the river's bank, I was stopped in my tracks. In front of me lay a stone. I wondered how long it had been there, how long since human eyes had seen it. How many hands have used it? How many years had it been covered over? And now here it is again, basking in the sun. All at once, I saw an overwhelming and overpowering sense of loss, of life and dreams in front of me, spreading across the land as far as I could see.

I asked her, “How on earth did you recover? How do you do this?”

She replied, “You don’t recover; it is always there, always held. It just changes its shape. What you see before you now is not always as it is. It’s not always so beautiful or so green. There are times of desolation when cracks open up, things die, they wither, change shape and form, blow and fall. There is a true and utter struggle, what we see as devastation. The rage of the winds will drift, bank, peak, and hollow the landscape to exactly where it needs to be. When the tears, like rain, fall, they fill the cracks—and oh, so much rain can fall—it will push things around, move them, shape them, gouge out pieces, push, pull, drag things under into its depths and spit it out in a different form. Then it will settle, the grasses grow, the trees engulf the broken wire of the strewn fence and just mould and shape their form around it as if it’s not even there. Their fallen branches offer refuge and homes, decomposing, giving life to new earth. Pastures bloom with seeding grasses, up and down, Gilgies that look like waves of an ocean thousands of kilometres away."

It says to me, "See, you can see all this beauty, and the grief is still there. It just changes. The shape of it will change. You'll see; you have no choice".

I stood for a long while right there, in front of this stone, then squatted before it and thanked it for its message.

THE TAKE-AWAY

As this piece is coming to a close, I ponder the latest full moon and a reflection I had on how I can show up better for those I love and share my life with. It's about just that—showing up. Right now, for me, that means some squirmy had e-fucking-nough rage tinged with a sprinkle of shame and a squeeze of ick, but it's also smoked with a light hint of deep knowing and trust that everything will be ok. Sounds delicious, right? Lol—I know what's on the other side of swallowing this god-awful concoction, which as a few of my sister would say, is Deliciousness.