Soul Snippets

Mabon Offerings

Today I had an epiphany: I am no longer my husband’s wife. We are still legally married, but any control I thought I still had over his life choices is gone. I have been holding the reigns so tightly, thinking that I was protecting myself (and my heart), but in actuality I was refusing to allow myself to feel the fullness of the pain of letting go. No one tells you that separation and divorce are like a death, except a death where your spouse goes on living their life… without you. The grieving is so similar to a physical death. We can never go back. But we can move forward and welcome living a life without them.
I’ve been in a holding pattern for months. Mabon is just around the corner and perhaps the season of transition is inspiring me to rip these false bandages off, once and for all, willing to face the pain as it comes. If I’m going to come out of this divorce healed and whole, open to being my ex-husband’s friend and open to new love myself, I need to be prepared to tame my ego and sit with humility. I’m ready to enter the game and do the hard work of forgiveness, not just for him but even more for myself. I shed lots of tears today, but I came out on the other side feeling tender and brave. Like I am suiting up to hit a final home run.
Artwork, “Autumn Equinox,” by Bridgette Nutt
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Soul Snippets

Death Roses

My grandmother called roses “death flowers.” Seven years ago, I was reminded that they were only to be given and received at funerals when I was picking out flowers for my wedding day. I discarded roses from list, thinking that this was merely due to tradition; a sign of an older time, or perhaps based on the Victorian flower language that carried a symbolic message of sympathy. Seven years later, as I dwell in the City of Roses, I’ve come into my own, deeper contemplation of the meaning behind death roses.

I started the New Year preparing to separate from my husband and life as I knew it on the East Coast to return to my family, friends, and the feeling of “home” in the Pacific Northwest. Soon after my journey West and settling into my new house, grief and loss arrived on my doorstep like long-lost distant relatives. I recognized their names but my memories of them were hazy and mostly forgotten. My being quickly became enveloped by sadness and loneliness; my body shut down to its basic operations for survival. I waded through weeks of lonely depression and entered Spring tense, irritable, and numb to experiencing any sense of pleasure.

I recall walking my dog and catching a faint smell of roses a few days ago. My senses came alive in an instant, as if someone had flipped a switch. I stopped in my tracks, eagerly hunting for the source. Finding the bush, I held a dense handful of pink in my palm, closed my eyes, and buried my nose deep in its velvety petals. I inhaled slow and deep, and was immediately planted back into my body. My heart opened, slowly at first, like a cracked, barren landscape soaking up the first rains of the season. I could feel my entire being soften with each exhale. I realized I was feeling pleasure and I almost wept tears of relief. These beautiful, fleeting moments had sparked my sensory receptors and I was starting to unwind from the confinement of grief.

This is the power of death roses: a reminder that whatever we may be going through, we are still alive. Their prickly thorns and rich aroma are catalysts for sensory nourishment when our bodies become too weary to feel and emote. However small it may seem, they have a natural ability to bring us back to ourselves when we have forgotten our way. My grandmother was right. Death roses are Heavenly gifts to the soul and they are not to be used lightly.

<artwork “Soul of a Rose,” by John William Waterhouse, 1908>

 

InstaBlogs, Uncategorized

Welcome Pele

welcome pele

raging hot

deep down in my soul

come and crack me open

under this Red Moon

let the salty sea of change

lick my wounds

the storm only makes the tree roots stronger

deep down

there are tiny seeds

waiting to spring forth

through this black lava bed

~Tiffany Waddell, Feb. 2017

<artwork is “Pele” by Susan Seddon Boulet>

InstaBlogs

Featured: Happiness Is…

Happiness is:

Embracing change and living in the discomfort long enough to heal your wounds.

Opening your heart and welcoming new opportunities.

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Trusting the messages from your inner cheerleader and the compliments from those who have your back, no matter what.

Believing you deserve greatness.

That crisp #sunglow that lights your path and whispers in your ear, “It’s time to shine.”