I am deeply spiritual.

I meditate, I have crystals, I believe in quantum shifts, that we all have eternal souls and a universal source of love and even do yoga, breathwork and a bunch of other spiritual practices on a regular. All this to say, this work does not stop you from being human. It doesn’t stop you from feeling your heartbreak at the news of a friend passing away and the ongoing loss you continue to experience as you come to terms with the fact you will never ever get to speak to them in this form as we know it, again. 

In truth, I didn’t realise I needed to hear this, until I did.

You don’t reach a certain level in your meditation and end up in another, ethereal world where you always feel happy, poop stardust and ride unicorns all day. It doesn’t stop you feeling pain, loss, sadness or grief.

No matter how much of this work you do, the people you love can still be taken from you in a heartbeat.

Being in this world of spirituality and personal development does not mean you transcend all negative emotions. That you manage every single thought or that you are constantly in a state of positivity, turning all anger and pain into fuel. Every sadness into something to transform.

You are simply, beautifully, tragically human. Which means you have the capacity to feel, to roar with emotion. It means when you experience grief, you know how to let it in. You don’t push it out.

You acknowledge its loud, demanding presence and make room for it. And in your acknowledgment, you notice that you are not your grief, even if it consumes you in this present moment.

That your soul, your light, your vessel is capable of holding the sadness, grief, heartache, pain, longing, love, compassion, connection and loss all at the same time.

That you can be grieving and still notice the beauty of hearing a bird sing.

That you can be deeply sad, and still smile when someone makes you laugh.

That you can overthink, and still come back to stillness.

The transformation is not in transforming or pushing away that which makes you human, the transformation is in being more deeply present and connected with the depth of what being human is. There is no greater reminder of this than grief.

There is no greater reminder of what it means to be alive than in the presence of death.

This is not the first loss I have experienced. Nor will it be the last. That, my heart knows.

With experience, things tend to get easier over time but with death and grief, I don’t believe that to be true. Not for me anyway. Familiar, perhaps.

Each time hurts just as much as the last.

A new engraving in my heart.

She becomes part of the sunrise over the ocean.

A particular song when making cupcakes.

She becomes the sound of laughter as I see in a yellow flower.

She finds me in the quiet moments when I’m alone, always at first.

Then over time, I get to choose when to draw her in, with the odd surprise perhaps a dream or an unexpected photograph memory, but always welcome, always in my heart, like a hug that lasts a lifetime.

This is your invitation, your reminder, that whoever you have lost, it is okay to feel.

It is okay to be okay today, and to need to cancel your work tomorrow. It is okay to be crying in one moment and laughing in the next.

It is okay to lean on others for support some days and seek solitude the next.

It is okay to have a million questions and have faith they are in a better place.

There is no right way to grieve. Except, perhaps, to allow it.

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Thank you for reading. This post has come about following the recent loss of a beloved friend of mine. I am fully supported during this time. I am sharing what I feel called to during this process and sincerely hope these words provide comfort to anyone going through the same. All views are, as always, my own.

Photo by Artem Sapegin on Unsplash