I hope you’re doing okay in the midst of all the transition and uncertainty out there. Of course, all of the arousal in the collective - all the chaos and well as the glory, the moments of openness and spaciousness, and those of grief, rage, and deep sadness - all of this is mirrored in the depths of our own bodies, psyches, and souls. It’s a lot to hold.
The path of the heart is not only one of transcendence – ascending and rising above – but also one of descent: into underworld, earth, and shadow, and into relationship with the figures who we find there. Companions on the night sea journey.
These pieces of psyche and soma – personal, collective, cosmic - have something to share with us, that longs to be incarnated, indwelled, and embodied in this time, an element of the mystery that has been forgotten in a world that has (understandably) grown weary.
The lunar way isn’t as clear as its heroic or solar counterpart. It is unclothed: of fixed concept, a precise map, and knowing how it’s all going to turn out. It has a way not of confirming but of dismantling the (spiritual) persona. That disassembling has a way of burning, aching, and also of tenderizing us, at times to our very core.
Even our most profound realizations of the “ultimate” and “absolute” can be taken to pieces, collected in a holy vase, and placed on an altar in front of us.
Inside the temple are the holy images of our broken dreams, disappointments, hopes, and fears – the entirety of our unlived life; the grief of the ancestors, the lamentation of the earth, and the sensitivities of the soma. Along with lost joy, wonder, beauty, and awe.
Here, in the center, the wound is weeping; it is opened and no longer covered over. This is what allows the tincture to enter. In this we may discover that perhaps the heart’s deepest longing isn’t so much to be mended, but permitted to disclose its essence, which reveals a doorway into compassion, aliveness, tenderness, grace.
A broken heart is not unwhole.
