My Journey Continued

My journey continued as it had begun, full of serendipities. Despite the last minute uncertainty about where I would stay during the retreat, the Air BnB that Jack booked for me for one night was perfect. Arriving at dusk, I found it accessible, cozy, comfortable, and “safe” feeling. I began paying attention to owning my feelings.

Not only was the bed comfy, but I had a very clear and vivid dream that night. Because of my new homeopath’s recommendation, I made a point of remembering the dream. I was sure it was relevant to the retreat I was about to go on.

Dream Travel

In the dream, I was in a hover craft, a boat that hovered a foot or so above the water. Cynthia Bourgeault was driving. I know her as an Episcopal priest, contemplative, academic and writer.

We were in a foreign port and there was a sense of unspecified danger.

Suddenly Cynthia jumped onto the dock—she was on a dangerous mission. I had to take over driving the boat and had no idea what I was doing. The steering wheel was like a joystick. Like an amusement park ride, the boat was bucking this way and that, up down and sideways. It was all I could do to keep control and not capsize into the water or crash into boat riggings or docks. But I managed, and Cynthia jumped back into the boat as suddenly as she had departed. Mission accomplished. She took over and we escaped.

The first day of the retreat for Institute members, Michelle helped me secure a room at the “Sanctuary,” where the seminar was being held. Here I was, thinking I was coming on the retreat to support Michelle in dealing with her stage 4 cancer prognosis.  But now she was the one taking care of me by getting me a room. Right on the grounds of the Center for Conscious Living and Dying, no less!

Between Amy Wright Glenn, the founder of the Institute for Birth, Breath and Death, and Aditi Sethi, the inspirational guide for the Center for Conscious Living and Dying, a safe space was created for the retreat to unfold. In the Fourth Way, the retreat space would be considered a container. Within the container, the atmosphere created by shared experience would provide a sense of safety. And it did.

Workshop Journeys

The first workshop, Grief Within and Between Us, had us partner with someone sitting nearby.

It occurred to me that Jack, my husband who doesn’t like to talk about death and dying, would still have been more attuned than me in these workshop exchanges. That my propensity to throw things at him like, “Hey, where do you want to get buried?” is a way of bypassing my own issues around death. Maybe I should be helping him to process any grief or fear leftover from his having had cancer. Maybe I should be doing the same for myself.

My second workshop was Understanding the Significance of Dreams. It was not about analyzing each other’s dreams but owning our own. In the retelling of mine, I relayed my sense of fighting to stay in control. But through the telling, I realized I had also felt a responsibility to keep the craft available for Cynthia’s return.

Up to this weekend, I had thought my grief was for Michelle and my fear about my son and grandchildren coping without her. What I hadn’t expected to find, was my own fear of death needing to be faced.

We’ll have to continue this next week …