Keep Moving by G. Brian Benson

“Recently there was a car parked out in front of my home for five days. It had a flat tire. Having a car parked in front of my residence was nothing new. It was normal to have cars come and go from that spot; I got used to the variety and the flow. 

Seeing that same car day after day, coupled with the fact that it had a flat tire, began to make me feel uncomfortable. Each day thereafter, noticing its presence made me wish it wasn’t there. Interestingly enough, I didn’t feel that way with the other cars that parked there; maybe because I knew they were temporary. It made me feel like the energy of the parking spot was always in flow. So on day five when I noticed that the car was finally gone, I let out a sigh of relief. And that got me thinking…why did the anchored car bother me?

I then realized that everything consists of energy, and energy needs to be fluid. Because we are part of that equation, we struggle when we stay stagnant and immobile. If we don’t allow ourselves to breathe, flex our muscles, and grow, it feels unnatural and joyless. That’s why it’s so important to keep expanding ourselves. 

Keep your body and brain active, step out of your comfort zone, and stretch. Maintain the flow of your energy; don’t be like the static car in the same parking spot too long.

I am an Advisor at 12Listen and look forward to helping guide you through problems big and small. 

Sincerely,
Brian

From Grief to Joy by Dr Elisa Robyn

In Kabbalah joy and grief are inextricably intertwined. Our rituals teach us that both are parts of life that must be lived fully. We laugh and dance at weddings, cry with joy at births, , and grieve deeply at funerals. We honor those who have passed by promising to joyfully remember them, but not until after we grieve. Each ritual helps us affirm that there is life beyond our daily experience. We assure each other that the spirits of those who have passed will be with us at our joyous occasions so that we will continue to laugh together. 

 But be clear, in the Jewish tradition we encourage the mourners to grieve the reality of loss. The death of a loved one makes us wonder how the world can keep moving when we when we are filled with pain. I remember looking at the LA freeway on the way to bury my father wondering how all these people could be going somewhere when I had such a hole in my heart. 

Mourners are not expected to talk. They rip their clothes, the sound of which often helps them cry. The community brings food and joins in prayers, creating a sacred space for grief. The family will often sit "shiva" for seven days, staying home and not venturing out into the world, tended to by friends and family. Mourners are immersed in the sacredness of mourning. 

At the funeral of my beloved mentor his son read a poem that started:  He was my north my south, my east, my west. My heart opened and called out to my father who passed away over 30 years ago, the same way the young man before me was calling out in pain to his father. I watched the two brothers acting as pall-bearers and remembered keeping my tears in as I helped carry my father’s casket. 

 We as a community left the sanctuary and drove to the graveside where mournful prayers are sung as the plain pine casket was lowered into the ground. And then the mourners perform a last act of kindness for the deceased, an act that can never be repaid. We each shoveled dirt into the grave starting with the immediate family, followed by all the mourners. This is not just a ritualistic clod of dirt; we as a community bury our loved one.

 When that first shovelful of dirt hit the flat top of the pine box, my solar plexus imploded. I had to wrap my arms around my body to keep the pain contained. But the shoveling continued and as the pain grew too big to be held tightly it started to leak out of my eyes. I heard pain spill from the throats of those around me. We all started to weep as we lined up to help bury our friend.

After the tearing of the mourners’ clothes, a final act to symbolize their pain and to help them weep, we formed a corridor for the family to walk through so they could feel our love as they returned to the dark black silent limo. I walked back to my car with tears streaming down my face wishing I could call my dad. He was my north and south and east and west.  

After keeping my tears in check at my father's and my brother's and mother’s and husband’s graveside, I allowed myself to weep and sob over a man who was larger than life. I am sure he is already telling jokes to G-d. And with this image I am able to laugh and cry for all those we have lost. I intend to cry at funerals the same way I laugh and dance at weddings. I intend to let my emotions flow without holding them "appropriately" in check. I want to live and model a life worth examining and singing about. From grief to joy, from tears to laughter, from funerals to weddings, I intend live in the fullness of life.

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Dr. Elisa Robyn, a modern-day Renaissance educator and leader, is the author of The Way of the Well, a spiritual romance, and Pirate Wisdom, lessons in leadership. Her eclectic career positions include geologist, Dean of Arts and Sciences, Vice President of Academic Affairs, Futurist, and Innovative Mojo Coach. Currently, Elisa is an executive director at Regis University. She holds a Masters degree from the University of California, Santa Barbara, and a Ph.D. from the University of Colorado, Boulder. Her most current writings can be found at https://www.ElisaRobyn.com

Elisa Robyn

Dr. Elisa Robyn, a modern-day Renaissance educator and leader, is the author of The Way of the Well, a spiritual romance, and Pirate Wisdom, lessons in leadership. Her eclectic career positions include geologist, Dean of Arts and Sciences, Vice President of Academic Affairs, Futurist, and Innovative Mojo Coach. Currently, Elisa is an executive director at Regis University. She holds a Masters degree from the University of California, Santa Barbara, and a Ph.D. from the University of Colorado, Boulder.

Chronic Illness by Brittani O.

Chronic illness is hard to accept. There is a pride inherent (in me, anyway – must be the Leo thing) that makes me reject the thought I’ll be “sick” forever. I don’t know if everyone struggles with that aspect, but I sure do.

I’ve always been a believer in “mind over matter”. I’m not saying I thought you could “will away” illness – I never really took it that far in my head. I just knew that I could change my attitude about anything, and that things always look better with a positive attitude. I knew that I had a choice about my feelings, and how much energy I gave to any certain feeling or emotion.

I still believe all those things. I am also beginning to understand the very real struggle of feeling that your body is attacking your soul. That depression is being forced on you and there’s no amount of willing that will fix it. That sometimes, things look shitty and there’s no way around that and no alternate way to look at it. That even if you take really good care of yourself (I do), your body can still get sick.

Sounds pretty hopeless, huh?

I agree. I’ve had some moments where I’m really at a loss for how to find any kind of positive lining in this. I wake up a lot of days in pain. Tired. Hopeless. Depressed. But I wake up. I get up. I go to work. I love my kids and my husband (love as a verb here). I engage in my morning routine to connect spiritually and physically with this body I’m in, even (and especially) if it’s hurting.

I try damn hard.

It’s working.

Life is tough right now. There are a lot of autoimmune issues cropping up for me and I’m learning how to navigate them. I’m not always swimming – sometimes I’m drowning. But I’ve got an online support network. It’s giving me a new mission – I want to facilitate in-person support groups and private counseling sessions, so I’m going to go back to school and get my bachelor’s in psychology so I can go for my master’s so I can help people navigate this incredibly tough area of life.

I’m learning that with the stress my body is going through, I can’t do as much. I have to say “no” more. I have to simplify – my calendar, my home, my life. I have to be able to rest. I have to be able to laugh – that means not too much stress. I have to be able to connect with those I love and in order to do that, I have to feel well. To feel well, I have to eat well, rest well, love well, and slow waaaaaaaaaay down.

There are days I have to call into work. I hate that. I hate being unreliable. I’m keeping those days to a minimum because I made a commitment to being there. But there are, unavoidably, days I cannot work. I have to rest. This is giving me a gift – I have to place myself as a priority. Truly, my body will not let me overextend anymore. This is something I am learning to view as a gift, rather than a punishment. It is, however, a learning – I’m not there yet. I still get frustrated, I still get angry and mad, and most definitely scared.

This is a test of my convictions. I have to go along with western medicinal practices on some things, which means I’m constantly researching and deciding if I’m really okay with what they want to do. These diseases are not all benign – some of them are fatal, and until we know what I actually have, I don’t really know what all my options are. The unknown is incredibly scary.

If you’re going through something like this, I encourage you to reach out. To me, to a therapist, to your doctor, to an online support group – reach out. I’m not a doctor, I can’t offer you medical advice, but I can offer you an ear to listen, a heart to love you with, and a shoulder to cry on. You can find me here, just about any time.

Much, much love

Brittani

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A Reiki Master, Theta Healer, psychic intuitive, oracle card reader, crystal-lover, medium, life coach, empath, and loving co-hort in this physical world.