Today, I walked in the forest as usual with my dog.
I always make it a point to look up and say hello to bypassers. Today, I saw three women walking alone—completely independent from each other—with their dogs and they refused to look at me. In fact, they turned away when I passed them.
All three of these women were crying as they walked.
The first one I passed made me feel compassionate—“awe, she must be going through something.”
The second one looked frustrated and teary, almost as if she was fighting someone in her thoughts.
I thought, “Now, that is an interesting coincidence, to see two women in tears within half an hour.”
When I passed the third one—a young lady who was staring at the ground with tears openly running down her cheeks as she walked—I realized, “This is not a coincidence at all.”
Important messages come in threes (according to the celestial rule book).
Their pain, even though for them it might feel personal and only existing in their in(ter)dependent lives, is the pain we all feel right now. It’s collective grief, frustration, helplessness, and darkness that lay so heavy on everyone’s heart and shoulders.
I want to say thank you to those three crying women walking alone in the forest.
Thank you for taking your tears into the trees and allowing them to be transformed by our sweet Mother Earth. With your embodiment and letting go of the pain we all feel and share, I now feel like some strange power of the miracle of recognition just hit me. I realize that the tears I have been holding back for the last couple of days are the healing we all need right now. You have given me the permission to freely and authentically feel sad. And so, by feeling it, I let it go.
Perhaps there will be a time, in the not-so-distant future, when tears of sadness and grief can be witnessed and transformed into healing by sitting together. Perhaps, someday we return to our ancestor’s mourning circles and ceremonies to hold each other and feel each other, so we don’t have to cry in the forest alone unless we absolutely want to. I will certainly do my best to allow space for grief to exist—in togetherness, from now on. And that is because of you, my fellow crying women.
We have to feel this pain. It’s inevitable. We have to look at it, cry it out, and so, let it go. This is the only way to heal. The only way is through the pain. So we can burn, transform, and rise again.
Out of great sadness and tragedy, heroes will be born. They always have. I already see them. The voices all around the world speaking up for peace. The Russians protesting all over their own country against their oppressor and his decision of further endangering their safety. The European countries welcoming refugees already.
Russian authors are writing and sharing their provoking thoughts. All people with social media connections to Russian friends are fueling their support, by simply telling the truth (just in case those friends have only heard propaganda until now). The Ukrainian president not leaving his town and his people behind. He is only 43.
Today, I heard of a Hollywood filmmaker being stuck behind the borders but choosing to stay anyway and continue to film. The cameras are now livestreaming the war—in the name of telling the truth.
Out of great difficulty, heroes will be born. I have faith in those heroes to bring peace back again—soon.
And I have faith in the rest of us being true to our feelings and not hiding them behind distractions—to say what we think and feel what we feel and to never (ever) hide our tears.
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