A reflection on the restorative power of beauty, deep nature connection and the necessary slowness required to tend to our deepest Soul in both grief & gratitude.
Dear Beloved Reader,
I’m writing this with sand still metaphorically between my toes and the rhythm of ocean waves still echoing in my dreams.
I have showered (probably more than usual actually) since arriving home, so the sand is, I think, mostly, physically gone now…
Ten days completely offline on the Northwest Coast of Vancouver Island, (Coast Salish – Quatsino First Nations Territory) – no internet, no cell reception, just the ancient conversation between sea and shore, forest and sky, sand and sleeping bags. (lol)…
There’s something profound about stepping away from the digital pulse that governs so much of our days.
In that space beyond the constant bombardment of the “connected,” world, it becomes possible to remember that our nervous systems weren’t actually designed for constant input of information and disembodied communication.
We are designed for natural cycles – for the ebb and flow that mirrors the tides, for seasons of engagement and seasons of rest.
In a digital and electrified world, it can be easy to lose track of this.
We can forget that connection with natural beauty isn’t a luxury – it’s deeply necessary medicine.
Slowness isn’t indulgence – it’s restoration.
The silence between bird calls and waves crashing is a space where we can hear our Soul speak…
The place we camped for 7 nights was at the mouth of a tidal river.
My bonus daughter and I spent surprisingly hot days (for the Northwest Coast!) floating up and down on the current as the tide flowed in and out, pretending to be seals. It was gorgeous and nourishing.
My bonus daughter and I getting warm again after an afternoon of tidal river floating
We paddled across the river to a creek to filter our water and carried it back to our camp.
Our only necessary tasks were to carry water and cook food. There was a regional fire ban, so we didn’t even chop wood. There really is something to that.
I also *almost* caught a huge salmon, and discovered a new passion for fishing, which also helps me feel connected to my beloved late grandfather, who loved to fish and was deeply connected to nature.
Standing at the edge of the Pacific, watching waves that have been arriving at that shore for millennia, I was also reminded of the necessity of being deeply connected to nature as a tender of the deep Soulwork of grief and love.
As witnesses and guides to the sacred unfolding of the grieving process, we non-negotiably need our own connection to something larger, slower, more ancient than the pace of modern life often demands.
I haven’t had any major deaths/losses in my life since my mentor, Sonara Medicine Wolf, died in August of 2022.
I always feel her more when I am either deep in ritual or deep in nature. Being on that land by the sea, I knew innately that this is where I will return to when I am grieving the losses of others I love that are surely to come.
As Francis Weller says, everything we love, we will lose. It is good to have some intimacy with that knowledge. This gives us the ability to prepare ourselves – not in a fearful, anxiety producing way, but in a way that allows us to feel the literal ground under our feet and to know that this is one thing that will not change.
We belong to the web of life – we are not separate from it. Our capacity to tend to our own and others’ grief is intimately connected to our own relationship with the rhythms of earth, water, air, and fire. When we’re disconnected from these elemental teachers, our work can become effortful rather than flowing, depleting rather than generative. We may start to seek a sense of ‘fullness’ from things that cannot fill us up. Connection to nature and a consistent return to this connection is essential. She gives us everything, and only asks for gratitude back.
Working with grief and trauma – our own or that of others – asks us to remain connected to sources of renewal that exist beyond the realm of words and strategies.
We need other humans in our healing journey, but we also need to stay connected to the More-Than-Human world.
I know it isn’t possible for everyone to spend ten days in the backcountry ocean wilderness.
For many, a small daily nature connection practice may be enough of a stretch!
If that is the case, I invite you to aim for this.
Maybe it’s 5-10 minutes with your morning coffee, watching the light move across your wall or listening to the birds.
Maybe it’s feeling your feet on the earth during your lunch break.
Maybe it’s stepping outside and taking some deep breaths of fresh air.
Maybe it’s taking a pause during that moment at twilight when the day softens into evening, or looking up at the night sky and remembering you’re part of something magnificent and mysterious.
Our hearts – whether they’re holding space for others or healing from our own losses – need us to be more than just skilled practitioners or resilient survivors.
We need to remember our true nature, our wildness, our own belonging to the larger story of life on this earth and within the cosmos.
Another sunset.
Death comes eventually to all those who are blessed with life. Our lives and each moment in them are a gift, not a promise.
And yet also, the waves keep coming. The river keeps flowing. The seasons keep turning. We can’t stop the cycle of life and death, love and loss.
But we can recognize that even in that, we are a part of something much greater than ourselves.
While we were under the stars and surrounded by water and sand and tides this week, this line kept coming to mind from Mark Nepo’s beautiful poem, The Way Under the Way :
”We cannot eliminate hunger,
but we can feed each other.
We cannot eliminate loneliness,
but we can hold each other.
We cannot eliminate pain,
but we can live a life of compassion.”
Ain’t that the truth baby, ain’t that the truth.
So please remember, when you are in your hardest moments, when the waves of grief and suffering wash over and through you, exhale.
You are not alone in this, you are just having a very human experience.
Plant your feet on the Earth. See the stars. Remember – you belong here too.
You will get through this.
And definitely, definitely reach out for support! We are NOT meant to do this alone.
With Love,
Josea
