Reflections on Anticpatory Grief

Take a breath… and let yourself arrive here, in this moment.
Feel the ground beneath you, holding you.
Notice the breath moving in and out, carrying you gently.

When we care for a loved one at the end of life, grief begins long before death.
It comes quietly—woven into the fabric of our days.
There is the joy of still having them here,
and at the same time, the ache of knowing they are leaving.
We live in two worlds at once:
the world of presence, of shared stories, smiles, the warmth of touch—
and the world of absence already making itself known.

We grieve the small daily losses—
a fading memory, a voice that grows weaker,
the independence slowly slipping away.
We may not speak of these sorrows, but we carry them.
They live in our hearts, in the hidden exhaustion of caregiving,
in the nights we lie awake, keeping vigil silently.

And yet… this grief, tender as it is, can also open us.
It invites us to slow down,
to notice the sacredness of each moment:
a look, a laugh, a word,
or even the silence that holds us both.

Anticipatory grief stirs longings in us—
to say what matters,
to listen more deeply,
to bless, and to be blessed.
It awakens us to love in its most honest, unguarded form.

Caring for a loved one in this threshold time is not easy.
It asks us to honor our own grief as much as we honor theirs.
To give space for our tears, our weariness, our tenderness—
to let love and sorrow walk hand in hand.

And as we open to this,
we begin to sense the mystery of transition,
how grief is preparing us—
softening us, steadying us—
for the moment when we must finally let go.

Take another breath.
Feel your heart—full of love, full of ache—
and know that both are welcome here.
In this journey of anticipatory grief,
you are not alone.
You are walking with countless others,
and you are held by something larger—
a mystery, a grace—
that carries us all across the threshold of life and death.

~Alexandra Kennedy

 

Bali Reflections

Bali, a dream woven from ancient whispers

where life and spirit intertwine seamlessly,

infused into each moment, each step.

The veil between the worlds gossamer thin.

The island pulses with colorful reverence,

flower offerings bloom daily at thresholds of homes, temples, shops;

they rest lightly on the earth like blessings, fragile yet eternal,

as if each petal were a prayer to the gods.

Here, temples outnumber people,

Each corner a shrine,

each shrine a prayer,

a pulse of divinity through earth and air.

Faces glow with a brightness kindled by the warmth of belonging.

with the confidence that behind every person stands a village,

a community bound by invisible threads,

hands always ready to catch, to lift, to hold.

Here, demons are brought out of the shadows,

scary, twisted faces painted, carved, and externalized--

invited into the open air to keep darkness in balance with the light,

to remind us that we all carry those demons within.

Each day is shaped by hands that weave, carve, paint and plant,

making meaning from the materials of earth and spirit.

Everyone is an artist whose creations are not bound to galleries

but live in streets, temples, in every offering and stone-carved figure.

Each statue, each dance, each painting a prayer,

each gesture a brushstroke in the ever-growing mural of life.

Nature is no stranger but an ancestor, a presence

in the sway of rice fields, the rush of rivers, the splendor of mountains.

A bond nurtured by taking only what is needed

and giving back with daily offerings and prayers.

Black and white checkered cloths wrap many trees and stones,

a sacred wardrobe of guardianship and grace

that bind the seen with the unseen,

a quiet invitation for spirits to dwell.

Here, to touch earth, to touch water, is to touch the sacred,

to feel life and spirit intertwine.

Everywhere water purifies:

springs flow with holy water, silvered and clear,

cascading into pools that gather pilgrims who dip foreheads and hands.

In this place, every rite of passage is met with ceremony,

life is a procession of sacred moments, a dance of birth, love, death and rebirth.

Each step carved with care, each transition marked with reverence.

Death, the Great Departure, is not feared but met as a passage,

an extension of life’s cyclical flow.

No one walks alone--

there are ancestors in the air, spirits in the soil, family always near.

And a deep belonging that anchors the soul.

The people wear this knowledge with the certainty that they belong

to something timeless, boundless and holy.

In Bali, the mundane becomes sacred and the sacred flows freely through everything.

You feel it in the air. You see it in the smiles.

You sense it in the contentment that dwells in the heart’s connection to all things.

Life is not just lived but offered back to the universe in gratitude,

one moment, one prayer, one breath at a time.

Bali breathes in a rhythm the world has long forgotten,

a dance of balance, a song of humans in kinship with the divine

and the soil beneath their feet.

The West has learned to hunger but not to be whole,

seeking endlessly yet forgetting to touch,

trading awe for ambition.

What Bali whispers to us is simple but profound:

That beauty lies in small ceremonies,

That balance is an art,

That peace is a way of being.

If we could listen, truly listen, we might learn to soften, to see the world anew--

not as a possession but as a partner in this dance of life.

We might find the sacred waiting quietly in the everyday.

~ Alexandra Kennedy

 

The Cardinal: Bridging the Worlds

 

 

The Cardinal: Bridging the Worlds

In Kauai’s green embrace, the thundering ocean greets a cloud swept sky.

A cardinal perches decisively on the back of a white deck chair.

She turns her scarlet head toward me

And with wings aflutter

Sings a full throated song,

A sublime melody from a sacred place.

With each sweet note carried on the ocean’s breeze,

Her song weaves love’s tender thread

as a bridge between the worlds.

A message from the gods? A message meant for me?

That night I drift on waves of sleep,

Then startle awake

By the bright essence of my dear friend--

lover of birds.

Devoting later years to healing wounds of grief and loss,

she made peace with the ocean that had killed her brother,

with the orphanage that bruised her childhood.

Gratitude became her companion.

She died at peace,

a heart attack in early morning,

with her cat snuggled up beside her,

no regrets.

Her spirit now close to me, suffused with sparkling joy,

The cardinal returns daily with her mate and her soaring song, a beacon of grace.

Hawaiians say that the cardinal connects us to the departed;

They seek it out for solace.

So, let the cardinal's song echo through time,

A bridge between worlds, between life and death,

I bow to her,

for this blessing at the ocean's edge.

 

                                        ~Alexandra Kennedy

Living Gracefully in Times of Upheaval

We are living in a time of great uncertainty, upheaval and change. Indeed everything seems to be speeding up—and will continue to accelerate. Time feels more compressed—a day can feel like a month in terms of the amount of experience compressed into that period of time. Energy is moving at a faster and faster rate through our bodies—in order for that to happen, stashes of unresolved emotional issues that we habitually carry in our bodies have to be healed and cleared. This is a precious time of transformation, unprecedented in scope. It’s easy to get overwhelmed, anxious, and fearful of all the changes both in our personal lives and in the collective. It’s easy to get lost in the outer drama and lose touch with our own source.

How can we live gracefully in these times of upheaval? How can we maximize the transformative potential?

1) Think of a hurricane—a hurricane generates some of the most powerful forces of wind, rain and waves on the planet. However the destructive fury of the hurricane revolves around a center that is absolutely still. That still center is the source of all the hurricane’s power. Every day go into the eye of the hurricane. Close your eyes and return to that source at the center of your being-- sink into that stillness. The words of T.S. Eliot come to mind: “At the still point of the turning world. . . Except for the point, the still point, there would be no dance, and there is only the dance.”

2) During that still time, turn within and pay attention to what is going on physically and emotionally. What sensations are you feeling in your body? What feelings are surfacing? As consciousness goes about clearing and emptying whatever blocks its expansion, we will be shown whatever needs to be healed. But you have to take the time to pay attention to what is showing up. You may not understand what is going on within you—your job is to observe and feel what’s there without judgment, without a story. Trust that what shows up is what needs your attention. We’re being guided by the universe—so that each one of us can be a part of that greater transformation.

3) As you go about your day, open to the joy of ordinary moments in your home, garden, neighborhood. Be present to whatever is showing up in this moment. Nature is constantly calling out to us, as though to say, "Look here and here! Wake up to the beauty all around you--that flash of a hummingbird, this tree ablaze with red gold leaves, the cool wind brushing your face, the raucous chatter of jays. Open all your senses to the wonder that surrounds you in this moment!"  When you cultivate joy and gratitude, you benefit the collective—your joy lightens and brightens the world. It may seem like a small contribution but it is felt!

4) When you go to bed, empty out from the day so your sleep is restorative and restful. Take some time to watch the events of the day pass by, noticing where your attention catches, where you get caught up in some emotion. Every day we are inundated by information. Emptying ourselves out allows for something greater to move through us while we sleep. When we aren’t processing the events of the day, our dreams can connect us to the depths of our being. Those dreams are gifts—they are messengers from the deep. When you wake up in the morning, write them down and savor them—let the images work on you throughout the day.

Sink into the silence that is here now—

Inside you,

In this moment,

In this sound,

This tree, these eyes.

Let this silence bring you home,

And the sweet smile of Buddhas

Spring to your lips.

That wind is your breath,

Those waves are your pulse.

This silence is who you are.

     --  From How Did I Miss All This Before? Waking Up to the Magic of Our Ordinary Lives 

The Sheer Joy of Nothing to Do, Nowhere to Go, No One to Be

I’m sitting at a small table at Peet’s Coffee, sipping jasmine tea. Just sitting, doing nothing, I open my attention to the sounds, smells, and sights all around me—the whir of the coffee grinder, snippets of conversations wafting by, a burst of laughter from one of the baristas, the musky smell of freshly ground coffee beans, newspapers rustling. Such a rich cacophony of life! The joy of doing nothing—and in this, I revel in the opening to life just as it is right now. Whether standing in line at the post office, sitting in my garden or in my office between clients, I savor these moments of my day; they’ve become increasingly important to my sense of well-being.

Ah, the sheer joy of nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to be! Just to read these words, many people sigh—yearning for the spaciousness of that state of being while feeling the press/stress of daily commitments, constant activity, and over stimulation. Learning how to integrate these moments of doing nothing into one’s daily life has become one of the strategies that I explore with clients who are feeling stressed and overwhelmed in these times of collective upheaval and financial insecurity.

Learning to do nothing is truly an art, one which few of us in our fast-paced society have mastered. The benefits are many. When we slow down and rest in being, we begin to flow with the current of life. We come home to our bodies; stress melts away. In those precious moments of doing nothing, we have the opportunity to reconnect with our Source—and when we are rooted in this Source the world reveals her magic.

Many are surprised that we deepen our spiritual practice not by doing more, but by doing less and less. Doing nothing we become more receptive to the Truth, more open to life as its is. When we relax back into nothing, we start to realize that nothing is not dead space at all—it’s alive, vital, vast. Energy rushes through the body and animates the senses. Vipassana teacher Jack Engler writes: “My practice now for the most part is doing nothing. I just sit there. I know it sounds dopey. . . Ninety-nine percent of the time, I just open the field of attention. If I had to put it into words, it’s learning the art of doing absolutely nothing. So you’re sitting there, attentive; and enjoying the show. Whatever comes up. A thought. A sound. A sensation. You don’t reach for anything. You just let life bring stuff to you.”

Here are some suggestions for learning the art of doing nothing:

1) Find a safe place in your home and take 10-20 minutes a day to just sit, doing nothing—a place where you will not be disturbed. You might need to experiment with a few places until you find one that feels really comfortable. Turn off all distractions: phones, TV, computers, Blackberries. Allow your body to relax, take some big breaths, and stretch if you need to. Settle into simple being, sitting very still—remembering that right now there is nowhere to go, no one to be, nothing to do.

2) Open your awareness to your breathing, paying attention to the flow of the breath in and out of the nostrils or the rise and fall of the belly. Be aware of sensations in your body—heat, cold, tinglings, vibrations, throbbing, pulsing, aching, lightness, density. Don’t try to manipulate or change your experience—let this all be as it is. Listen to your body—what is your body telling you in this moment?

Keep relaxing, letting go. Gradually open your awareness wider-- to the sounds around you. Allow listening to happen with your whole body, not just your ears. Keep listening. Allow your body’s boundaries to dissolve. Is there a point that you can’t tell what is coming from within or without, that there is no more separation between inner and outer? Everything is happening inside you; you are the body of the world!

3) Experiment with small nothings in your daily life—in the check out line, in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, waiting for the light to turn green. Being alert, relaxed and present, gently open your awareness to whatever is going on around you—conversations, activities, sounds.

Practice driving without talking on your cell phone, without listening to the radio. Enjoy the scenery; focus on your breathing and the sensations of holding the steering wheel.

4) Spend some time in nature, whether in your back yard, a park or the woods—inviting the trees, stones, plants to teach you the art of just being, of doing nothing. If your thoughts start to take you out of the present, just notice them and gently bring your attention back to your breath, your body and the natural world around you.

Drink in the stillness that emanates effortlessly from each tree, each stone, each plant. Such a sense of peace!

If you feel overwhelmed by the daily onslaught of emails, phone calls, news, financial concerns, work & household demands, if you’ve lost a sense of inner peace, take time each day (just 10 to 20 minutes!) to practice the art of doing nothing. In the spaciousness of that nothing, you just might discover the vitality, peace, energy, and inspiration that you’ve been yearning for!

I have a feeling that my boat

Has struck down there in the depths,

Against a great thing,

And nothing

Happens! Nothing. . . Silence. . .Waves. . .

Nothing happens? Or has everything happened,

And are we standing now, quietly, in the new life?  

      --- Juan Ramon Jimenez

You will find more suggestions for integrating the sacred into your daily life in my book How Did I Miss All This Before? Waking Up to the Magic of Our Ordinary Lives. If you are curious how a retreat might incorporate this art of doing nothing, check out the last chapter: Waking Up In Paradise Retreat. 

Being Astonished

This morning the piercing sweetness of the finches songs and the pearly white luminescence of the calla lilies took my breath away. My own back yard is sacred ground—if I can empty myself of distracting thoughts and let the world flood in and ravish me. Nature is always calling out to us to wake up and pay attention to what’s right here in this moment. Poet Mary Oliver reminds herself (as I also do) to “Keep my mind on what matters, which is my work which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.”

In the midst of our grief over what is happening in our world, these moments of full presence in our everyday lives, of standing still and being astonished, is what is needed to heal our hearts—and ultimately our world. The Earth has so much to teach us right now—but we need to take the time to open to these ordinary moments that call out for our attention—when a bird is singing, when sunlight is streaming through branches, when a stone in our path catches our eye. How did I miss all this before? 

Compassionate Listening

Deep listening is the kind of listening that can help relieve the suffering of another person. You can call it compassionate listening. You listen with only one purpose: to help him or her to empty his heart. Even if he says things that are full of wrong perceptions, full of bitterness, you are still capable of continuing to listen with compassion. Because you know that listening like that, you give that person a chance to suffer less. If you want to help him to correct his perception, you wait for another time. For now, you don’t interrupt. You don’t argue. If you do, he loses his chance. You just listen with compassion and help him to suffer less. One hour like that can bring transformation and healing.

I recently came across these wise words of the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. Compassionate listening is at the heart of good therapy, good communication, and a healthy self esteem. There is truly a time to just listen, to hold the space for another person to share and to empty his/her heart of all that encumbers it. We all need this—to be accepted in this moment just as we are. This kind of listening heals in and of itself.

When clients and friends ask how they can support someone who is grieving, this is one of the first things I recommend—to simply hold the space for their grief, to listen without any attempt to fix or change anything, to listen compassionately. Thich Nhat Hanh is right—just listening in this way can relieve the suffering of another person.

Likewise when I am working with couples, this kind of listening can transform the way they are with one another. As they work on issues between them, most couples get caught in a tense exchange as both partners try to make a point, to prove themselves right. So as one partner is speaking, the other is busy internally reacting and making a mental case for their side rather than listening to what is being said. Once compassionate listening occurs, the atmosphere in the room changes appreciably. Relationships change when each person feels heard. Instead of partners bristling with each other, they relax and become softer with one another. Voices become quieter.  Suddenly there is vulnerability and a willingness to share much more openly with one another.

Let’s take this to another level. Can we take this compassionate listening into our quiet time with ourselves? We turn our attention within and invite the life force to flow through us. We stop running and arguing with the way life is; we stop trying to change ourselves. We listen deeply to our bodies, to our feelings, to whatever is showing up in this moment. It’s as though we tell ourselves, “I’ll be here for you however you are in this moment. I’m listening.” To meet ourselves fully in this way is an act of love.