Sweet surrender.

photo-1 If you've read SASSY, you'll have met my number one homegirl, Akilahanda. I wrote about her last year too when I found out that my mumma had been diagnosed with end stage pulmonary fibrosis.

Akhilandeshvari is the goddess of never not broken. The double negative is meant to emphasise the truth of Her total brokenness. This goddess-girl from Hindu mythology, teaches us that, in that moment, you know the one I’m talking about, the one when you feel lost, alone and in a Bridget Jones-style heap on the floor wailing ‘All By Myself’ at the top of your lungs, you are more powerful and full of awesome than you’ve EVER been.

Except, when you're in that heap, you don't feel that powerful. I'm in the deep, dark wild place of being in this world without both my parents. I'm howling with sorrow, I'm filled with rage, yet over the last week, I've started to feel a rigidity forming,  a resistance to the grief. Surely I should be done with all these tears now? People have stopped talking about it, so perhaps I should too. You shouldn't blog about it anymore, people will be bored of hearing it, they want to know how to live an awesome life and right now you're just a freakin' Debbie Downer. Should. Should. Should. Should.

This weekend, I couldn't decide whether to go to my yoga teacher training class, mainly because I was hurting. The shards of my broken heart were literally tearing at me from the inside out, but I felt called to sit before my teacher to listen to his teachings, because previously they'd soothed me, they'd provided me with hidden gold that made me feel better.

Not this weekend. This weekend I just got fucking uncomfortable. I was burning. On my mat, in my head, in my body. These teachings were bullshit. I told my teacher so too. 'If yoga and it's teachings are so fucking incredible, why am I feeling so 'human' in this experience? Why does it hurt so much? What would mister fucking enlightened do if he had lost both parents and an auntie I adored in the space of 2 months?' He simply looked me in the eyes and said 'I'd be feeling exactly what you're feeling. For a while. I would feel the hurt, the anger, the pain. For they are all lessons. Then after that while, I'd thank them. I'd thank them for their greatest inheritance, the life that I'm now able to live because of them.' He's totally guruji for a reason.

It isn't about feeling better, it isn't about being soothed, an awesome life isn't always comfortable. Like Akhilanda, we will never not be broken, so don't try to fix it. Nothing needs fixing here. In the broken-ness, the cracked-open-ness, we can uncover some incredible soul medicine, our inheritance from those who have left their body,  that what is tender, true and real. This is the work.  This is the work that as humans, we overlook and brush conveniently under the carpet because we don't talk about death, because we put a timeline on grief, because we'd rather take drugs/drink/eat to numb the pain. Spending time in grief and really fucking feeling it, every last drop of it, witnessing it for what it is, is part of the journey back home, to our heart, to our truth. So I've flicked the middle finger with total love and compassion to all the 'shoulds', to all those who say 'c'mon now Lisa, you need to be moving on', to alI those who want me to hurry up and go back to being 'me',  and in doing this, the rigidity I was starting to feel has softened and I'm simply allowing it all to occur. Ah...sweet surrender. I've surrendered. I've surrendered to it all. To the hurt, to the anger, to the tears, to the lessons, to the medicine and to all the freakin' Akhilanda power and awesomeness - my parent's gift to me in grief - that will undoubtedly occur from this place, because right now, this is my truth.

What's yours?