News from Jules | 02.28.2022 | Seeing the Light Part 1
It was 4 a.m. Hunger woke me, but curiosity kept me awake. The crashing waves sounded like they were right outside the motel, not down the street a few blocks. What was the beach like right now? After we had all put out our campfires hours ago.
How dark was the darkness?
I peeked through the large slats of the window blinds. Sideways rain hit the bare pavement and bushes swayed in the wind. I had never been on the beach in the middle of the night, in the pitch black, alone. I really wanted to see what it was like. But I was scared. Instead of putting on my raincoat, I crawled back under the warm comforter on the queen bed.
But, I didn’t go back to sleep.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep. — Rumi
Press play to listen while you read. A soundtrack of the season: "Winter 2011" from one of my favorite bands, City of the Sun.
Instead, I read about winter in The Circle of Life: The Heart’s Journey Through the Seasons by Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr.
A season of life I am still trying to understand.
This season of waiting.
“In winter, the heartbeat of the land slows to alpha pace,” wrote Rupp and Wiederkehr. In our brain, alpha waves are when we’re physically and mentally relaxed, awake but drowsy—in between the beta waves of alertness and the delta waves of dreaming. Like being up at 4 a.m.
Here, the heartbeat of the ocean slowed me to alpha pace. Once again, I came into my women spiritual group’s annual two-day retreat with the intention of release. To release all that I had decomposed this winter, plus anything I still clung to.
After the winter solstice, I found myself facing my deepest fear, my deepest wounds, my deepest desire—all intertwined—over the past few months.
The heartbreak of being alone.
Will I ever have my own family? Will I ever walk in the door to see someone light up because I’m home? Or is it going to be like this, just me, forever?
Instead of resisting this darkness with denial or hope like I have in the past, I surrendered. Even though I felt like a pile of goo, I made do. Moving gently through my days. Following my intentional routines of self-care. Retiring again, each night. Begining again, each day.
Slowly, I noticed what was down there in the darkness underneath the dreams, the ideas, the feelings: Expectations.
Expectations of the way I want things to be. Especially about the way I want to feel. And about how I want others to feel.
Of course, all of that is totally out of my control.
So what does one do?
Rupp and Wiederkehr offer wise reminders: Winter asks us only to be, to live with mystery, to wait patiently. This season requires great trust and a willingness to believe that this angst will not last forever.
Just like winter’s longer nights, it seems like it will never end. But it will.
And the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
May you slow your heartbeat to alpha pace this week.
Love,
Jules
Expectations. Whew. So much of our lives can be lived without realizing how dearly we hold the expectations that others have for us, let alone starting to examine our own. There's real power in recognizing and acknowledging these things though. They are certainly a tricky thing — when you say your expectations for how you want to feel are out of your control, what does that look like?
Love the musical accompaniment here. What a beautiful experiential way to help me be with you in this moment. Thank you. xoxo -R