My backyard pines. Not effected by frost.

Hello Lovely,

I have not gone outside yet today. It is past noon; I am afraid to see the damage done by the harsh frost last night. Alan and I did our best to cover the vulnerable plants, even moving what we could indoors (my kitchen and living room look a bit like a green house). But, temperatures in the low 20's are not typical, nor well tolerated in my part of the world. Looking out my kitchen window this morning I saw that the big pots that yesterday held lush, vibrant coleus are now filled with stocks of brown, dead leaves.

I am not ready to see the rest yet. My stomach feels a bit sick when I think of it.

I know they are only plants. I know they can and will be replaced. It's not like I lost a priceless heirloom. This is nature doing her thing. So many others lose so much more all the time, I feel silly and shallow for being so upset over a few simple plants.

See what I did there? Instead of being with the losses in my garden, I minimized my feelings and topped it off with a good dose of criticizing judgment.

How many times do we tell ourselves that our reactions, our feelings, our experiences are the wrong ones to be having? How many times do we manipulate ourselves trying to get our emotions to behave themselves? Meaning only feeling what we want, in the amount we want, for as long as we want.

Truth is, it hurts to lose beauty. It hurts to see something I have invested time and love into die. It hurts when I do what I can and it is not enough. I am not ready to see what else has been damaged. I will be, but not right this second.

I know I don't feel like rushing off to the nursery to fill in death so I don't have to be with it.

There is so much unnamed potential in loss. It is hard to get to because the pain of it stops us from looking. We brush past it so we can feel better. Of course we do, and the size of the pain doesn't matter, we are wired to avoid it.

This is why when I am coaching I purposefully hold you there, in the moment of pain and loss, with such delicate insistence. Not letting it be minimized, judged or avoided. Holding you there until that pain and loss, it fractures, releasing the most sensitive kaleidoscopic expressions of love, devotion, reverence, longing, essence and spark.

This is why loss hurts. It is holding all the energy of what is now gone, all of what we put into it, and all of what we felt for it. Until the crucible of feeling cracks the pain open and gives it all back to us. Sometimes it comes quickly, sometimes it takes it's time, this unraveling of loss into its components. But when it does, pain lessens, eventually melting away. The heart expands so it can hold the loss of what was AND the creating of what comes next- rather than grabbing for what is next to fill the space of the loss.

As we move into winter, the season of death, allow the loss of what is ready to die (or gets killed by bitter frost) reveal the spark of what is ready to grow next.

I bet you find joy and wonder. It is the season for that also!

Lush and vibrant love for you,

Sandi

PS. Finding Your Wild Wonder, a three week e-course joy ride is open for registration. It is hard to imagine now, as the hectic holiday season is just ramping up, but come January life settles and feels a bit flat. What if you ramped up the Wild Wonder instead of wrangling resolutions and missing all the twinkling lights?  There is time to get in on the special solstice/holiday wonder guide going out late next week. And you can still add on some one-on-one coaching with me at a discount (this does not happen often and the offer expires December 6).