I made this honoring for a home clearing and blessing.
It’s made of salt, chili powder, turmeric, flowers, and prayers. It will blow away in the wind. It sits out front of the home of the best friend I ever had, my truest love, who died a month ago of a rare, violently aggressive cancer.
I’m grateful I faced my social media addiction over a year ago. I had an intuition something was wrong. My daughter was jealous of my phone like it was a younger sibling stealing my attention. One night, she looked at me, pining, and said, “Mama, remember when you put down your phone last night and was with me? Remember. Remember you loved that.”
My heart was crushed. I knew I had to confront my social media use: the numbing hours spent on it, the shame cycle of me comparing myself to others and despairing, the superficial highs of strangers telling me I was awesome, and the harm I was causing my family and myself from lack of presence. There can be real connection on social media, but I was not capable of being responsible with my use. I immediately pulled away from my 245,000 followers on social media, and shortly after, my friend got diagnosed.
Because I dropped in, I was able to be present in a way I avoided with social media.
I was one of my friend’s primary caretakers, and I was with her every twist and turn. She spent most of last year struggling and needing my presence.
Presence with a dying loved one will change you forever. It will carve deep caverns in your heart, filling it with rivers of hard-earned wisdom. You will become the Crone in your bones. Grief will strike you—violent, sudden—like a storm at sea. You will cry until you can’t imagine crying more. No wonder we avoid pain. It is absolutely harrowing. And it was the most holy experience I’ve ever had.
All of it was a blessing—every awful, mystical minute. It is an honor to be chosen to walk someone to the edge despite the incomprehensible pain of letting go. No amount of “likes” will keep you safe from the reality of life. “Followers” won’t be there to hold your hand when you’re cradling your dying friend in physical agony wondering if there is a God.
So maybe put down your phones. Take a media detox. Listen to your hearts. Have your phone track your social media use and be horrified by the hours. Go into the pain you’re distracting yourself from.
If I avoided the pain of letting go of my beloved, if I didn’t face death, I wouldn’t be woke to the invaluable truth—that my friend never left. I would have missed her when she was the seal gliding before me in the ocean, the yellow butterflies dancing with me on my hike, the night sky.
She is my intuition, my dreams. She is presence. She is prophecy.