Under the mud
Random thoughts on the landscape of loss
Sigh… I’m lost -and not for the first time. I can’t read maps, at least not well. Even if I know where I am (big if), can I figure out in which direction I’m pointing? What’s the scale? What am I looking at? On Sunday, I crawled out from under my stone and joined a group of walkers for the first time, for a marvellous 5 hour walk on Dartmoor. We had a guide. Oh, the bliss of that. A guide for the journey, someone who knew the way and could read both the map and the landscape.
Weary
“In my life”, I said to two friends this morning, “nothing happens unless I initiate it”. It’s not true. But I’m weary. Who will scoop me up and say, “I’ll take care of it… I’ll take care of you”? No-one. And so I turn again to the God of my understanding and say, without much courtesy or grace, “What about it? Where are you? How thirsty, worn and threadbare does one have to be? Isn’t it enough now?” Meanwhile, I can’t lie on my back with my legs in the air waiting for a sign, for a scooper upper, for love to fill my heart. And how long can I justify being sprawled, zombified on the sofa, waiting for inspiration? So I put one foot in front of the other, or maybe I don’t, maybe I tread water just about keeping my head above the surface.
‘Fine’
“Am I inauthentic?” I ask myself. Out and about, I probably seem ‘fine’ to most people: I bring myself present, I listen, I care (genuinely), I laugh, have fun; and then I come through my front door, the laughter falls away and I (usually metaphorically) slide down the wall, thrown back on what John O’Donohue aptly calls, “the black tide of loss”. I think it’s not that one version of me is true and one isn’t, it’s that I cannot always sustain the ‘alrightness’, especially when the sense of aloneness and unbelonging I carry is strong in me.
Underneath the mud
“Write from underneath the mud”. A suggestion I gave – I don’t remember- to someone wanting to write prayers in the times of her struggles, which might serve others in theirs*. What I meant, I imagine, is don’t wait until you’ve got it all sorted, until you can make it pretty and glossy; write now, raw and naked, as unpretty as it is; it is this authenticity which will meet others, this truth of your human experience, which will touch and resonate with the hearts of others. So here I am, taking my own advice and writing from underneath the mud.
Loneliness
A friend said to me last night, that although I write for those who grieve, what I say applies more widely. I guess it’s true, although I would say grief itself is much wider than the feelings we experience with the loss of a person we love: what about the loss of relationship, or the gradual losing of someone through age or dementia, the loss of health or home or meaningful work? For myself, I wonder now where grief ends and loneliness begins. The one begot the other, though loneliness is a familiar companion from my childhood onwards. Under-confident and increasingly socially awkward, adolescence was a nightmare; being married to a man who believed he had married the wrong woman wasn’t great either, nor being with someone for 17 years who, as the years went by, sought to silence my voice and bend my will to his. To finally be met and cherished only to have that taken away again so soon, has brought me face to face with my old companion. But she has changed, maybe I can even call her a friend. I know now that there is nothing wrong with me: I was loved so I must be loveable. The loneliness is no longer criticising me, her voice is not unkind or harsh (usually).
She does her best by wrapping me in fur throws, lighting the fire, bringing me a cup of tea, finding me a good book or bringing me my pen and a writing pad. I suppose, with her help, I am learning to befriend myself.
Being human
And yet, I am a human being. I’m ok with living alone. I’m ok – now- to put out the bins, sort out the bills, make all the meals. I’m ok to be quiet, I need solitude and I like having choices about what I say yes and no to. What I’m not ok with, is the lack of someone to touch, the lack of someone to touch me. When my daughter and grandson came to stay for four days before Christmas – joy and prayers of gratitude! – there were warm bodies to hug, cheeks to kiss, hair to stroke. In their absence my fingers itch (thank god for the dog).
Enough or more
In a nutshell, what I miss/long for/weep for, is to be cherished. I promised to cherish my late husband all the days of my life, and I do, in my heart and in my memory. It isn’t enough. Four days’ worth of hugs to last me until the next ones in 8 weeks’ time, isn’t enough. Given everything I have and how grateful I am for it all, I am ashamed to admit that I want more. More cherishment, more tenderness, more joy. My friend is right, this conundrum is not limited, I know, to those of us who are overtly grieving. I am not alone in feeling alone.
New Year
As I reflect, I realise, that having spoken into your listening ears, I do actually know where I am. This year, the landscape of loss has been unpredictably bumpy and boggy. I’ve not fallen off dramatic cliffs, nor taken another sojourn into a pitch black cave, but bogs are no fun and I’ve just walked into another one. This may take a little skill to navigate. At least now that I know where I am (and some idea how I arrived here), I cannot claim myself to be completely lost.
The next thing to figure out is where I want to go. Maybe a trail will open up or a guide will appear in an unexpected conversation or chance encounter or maybe I will call out to the four winds. So here it is, my message for the New Year, not a resolution but a reminder, to myself and to you:
“You are not alone. Reach out your hand and your heart, however you can, however messily, and ask for guidance and connection, for solace and love, for whatever you need”.
In 2025 may we find Peace within and take it with us, out into the world beyond.
With my Love,
Nickie
*My friend has written and published her beautiful, honest and articulate book of prayers: “Pilgrimage through the Storm” by Bindiya B Chanrai, published and available on Amazon. I recommend it.
NEWS
Two new events to tell you about, for those of you dealing with loss of any kind – bereavement or one of the other many which we manage in our lives
WALKING WITH LOSS – ONLINE, WEEKEND RETREAT
From Friday 14th March to Sunday 16th . Suggested donation £55 – £99*
Using everything we have learnt from holding the Walking with Loss Together courses in person, Emma Capper and I invite you to join us for a wonderful weekend gently exploring and honouring our losses and our grief. This may or may not be the loss of a loved one.
Course structure:
Online sessions: Friday 14th March 7 – 8.30pm; Saturday 15th, 10-11.30am and 7 – 8.30pm, Sunday 16th, 10-11.30am and 4-6pm.
In nature sessions in your own time and chosen place: Saturday and Sunday, with creative invitations and accompanied by a recording of Emma’s atunement to nature. Please note, you will be able to do this in a garden as easily as in a woodland or a park or anywhere else that is comfortable and accessible for you.
If you would feel safer in the great outdoors with another trusted person, we suggest you ask them along as a witness. Most the exercises we offer are best undertaken quietly.
*We never want to exclude anyone on the basis of ability to pay. If you unable to pay the suggested donation, do please be in touch, and we will endeavour to offer you a bursary. If it is easy for you to donate more, we should be very grateful.
For further information or to book please go to my events page, or for further information please email me at the address on the flyer.
CREATIVELY WRITING THROUGH LOSS – ONLINE, 4 EVENING SESSIONS THROUGH FEBRUARY AND MARCH.
Mondays from 7-8.30pm:
February 10th and 17th, March 3rd and 10th
Suggested donation £40 – £55*
Building on last year’s Creative Writing course, I am delighted to offer a second chance to discover writing as a tool and a resource with which to explore and understand whatever loss – bereavement or other – you are dealing with in your life.
No previous experience of writing is necessary – we are interested in the process of discovery not a finished article. I will write alongside you – there is no hierarchy!
*I never want to exclude anyone on the basis of their ability to pay. Please make a smaller donation if you need to.
“Gentle..safely held…journey of understanding…brilliant facilitation…enlightening” – a few words of feedback from last year’s participants.
For more information or to book please go the my events page here or for more information, please email me on the address in the flyer.
BUY ME A COFFEE
I gift this blog and in fact much of my work, including spiritual care in the hospice and running the threshold singing group. Some of you have expressed a desire to gift me back. Thank you so much. For those of you who would like support what I do, you can, if you wish, buy me a coffee here. Thank you xx
PLEASE NOTE THE CONTACT LINK SEEMS WELL AND TRULY BROKEN. CONTACT ME VIA EMAIL ON FLYERS ABOVE OR ON INSTAGRAM OR VIA Substack: Live, Love, Grieve by Nickie Aven