Finding out
This isn’t one of those normal posts I usually do: something on meditation, a meditation itself, or exploring an aspect of mindfulness. Maybe this post is the latter, but it’s a labyrinthian voyage, full of twists and turns, as well as the occasional switchback and rest stop at a dead end. Much of it is about what grief teaches. It is long and meandering, detailing the process of dealing with my aunt’s passing, but also my own process of mindfulness in the wake of this tragedy. There are no videos this week. I’m still in my heart, still torn, and trying to heal. That I’m writing this now is a testament to the healing powers of the written word – at least in my own life.
I’ve come face-to-face with grief before: with my own adoption process (within my family), the loss of my oldest brother, a miscarriage, other extended family members and friends who have moved on…. I recognize the grief process as a part of life. It is part of that which completes the cycle of life, from birth to death, to make room for the young and to transform the old. It is healthy. Grief is a powerful teacher. I am a reluctant student committing myself to learning the lessons.
August 3, 2019
On August 3, 2019, I was talking to my mom on the phone. It was a warm summer afternoon, a Saturday. She mentioned hearing about the El Paso shooting only an hour before. I know we both thought of her sister, but we didn’t mention her name. What were the chances?
It wan’t until my cousin was on social media later in the day asking our El Paso cousins to contact her. We have seven who live in El Paso, TX, in addition to my aunt. Not one of them replied. That was when I started to sense something was wrong. When I saw another cousin on CNN with a picture of my aunt Angie, pleading for information as to her whereabouts, I knew. My heart sank. Moments later, my own sister called.
“I have bad news,” she said. “I already know,” I whispered.
At that moment, I was plunged into a grieving process that would be unlike any other I’d encountered in my life. What would have been a private family event, that included a celebration of life and a ceremony to mark a passing into a different realm, it became a newsworthy, and very public process of navigating the loss of life through the fabric of national debate. Something was taken away, then. What it was, I still don’t know.
National conversation
I’m a long-term meditator. I find that I return to center through life’s ups and downs more quickly than if I didn’t have this practice. I almost always feel stable in my core. This event, though, still rocked me. Perhaps it was knowing that someone attacked my family for being Latina. Maybe it was the violence associated with how twenty-two people lost their lives, along with nine others in Dayton, Ohio. There was this realization that life suddenly got more real than just hearing about an event on the news. That my own family members became part of the national conversation, whose faces became the symbolic image of a political debate gone awry…. It was all of these things. Or none of them. Or the infinite layers of nuanced consciousness between, each one containing emotions, questions, and revelations and no answers.
In all honesty, I didn’t know my aunt that well – time and distance will do that. But she was still a member of my family – a tribe that, when it comes down to it, forms a tight familial group. If anyone – family or even friends I consider family – needs help, I act out of love and a duty to look after my tribe. That’s what families do: they band together to survive and face the world head-on in times of happiness and in times of sorrow. Family, in this sense, included blood relations, yes, but close friends and those who touched my heart are also part of my tribe.
Extended family from all over the US went to be with our Englisbee cousins in El Paso. From California, North Carolina, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, and others, we gathered to support one another. My aunt was one of ten siblings (five are now deceased) and all living relatives attempted to be at the funeral. My own mother, Angie’s sister, got stuck at an airport during a layover in Denver, CO, and couldn’t make it after her flight was canceled. That added to my own level of sadness. I was there for my family and I wanted to be there for my mom.
I noticed this mural in the church: it paints a strong message of acceptance of others as they are. Live and let live.
The funeral
We all watched as they wheeled the casket into the church. I held back tears as I watched as Angie’s sons and daughters drape her coffin with a white cloth, symbolic of her moving into eternal life. The service was beautiful, most notably with an angelic choir whose tones reminded me of the Gregorian chants I recently researched. Their music carried me to the skies where I had a private conversation with my aunt behind closed eyes. I welcomed her to the angels and relations to whom I ask to watch over me as I begin each new day, the ones I whisper to as I smoke-cleanse whenever I need an extra layer of protection.
I’ve asked myself why I shared about the funeral and my aunt on social media and here on this blog. It was because the whole process was so public. I already have a public website. I am committed to transparency in my own meditation and mindfulness journey. More than that, however, it is my hope that someone somewhere can derive hope from my words and sharing here. That perhaps through my story, I can inspire people to love more, be more accepting of others, and to share in this process.
St. Pius X Church, where the funeral was held.
Grief teaches that I’m not enlightened
I wish I could say that I have reached a level of meditation in which I am not affected by what’s happening around me – that I am compassionate and yet calm, whose waters lie still within. Grief teaches me that I’m not there. At least not yet. I find myself going through the typical symptoms of the grief process. I alternate between feeling normal, feeling happy, and profoundly sad and frustrated. The sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, feelings of exhaustion – especially as I traveled to and from the funeral – have left me unwilling to keep up the normal pace to which I am accustomed. I know it is normal. I’ll admit my own judgment of it: I don’t like it.
I can say this: my meditation practice has helped. It helps me remember to breathe, to be kind to myself, to be understanding as I chart this unfamiliar terrain of new grief. It is a vast, unknown land, and I have no idea when I’ll get to the end of it. Meditation helps me to see the landscape for what it is: a gray place with few trees and colorless sand dunes that have their own stark beauty. I never would have appreciated it unless forced to traverse through it, to study its nooks and crannies. I’m navigating this melancholy trek, but I’m gaining strength as I lie under the moonless skies and dull stars.
There is also peace in acceptance of this journey. Meditation helps me recognize all this. It helps me lean into – or on – all the leafless trees of emotions. Some I climb. With others, I sit at their base. Some I pass with nary a glance. I have even found two trees on occasion where I put up my proverbial hammock to cocoon myself in comfort. Some trees whisper that I am still loved. Some bend their branches in a scaly embrace. Others stare at me coldly. Grief teaches me to speak in metaphor.
The memorial at the Walmart in El Paso. Flowers, cards and gifts came from all over the world. I stood in front of my aunt’s cross and felt the magnitude of her loss in this moment.
More of what grief teaches me
It’s funny what grief does. I am not one to show emotions – other than being happy or neutral – to anyone. Grief has taught me that it will show up at any time and it doesn’t matter where I am, it will ask me to be present to it. The healthy thing to do is let it. I recently was on a retreat with the faculty at the school where I work. In a meeting with nine other colleagues, I grieved in front of them. This was not intentional. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or just “letting go.” But I couldn’t hold it in. We held hands as tears trailed down my cheeks, as I attempted to answer a simple question. I learned a lesson in vulnerability then. It was not easy.
Grief teaches me that time slows down – to an impossibly slow pace – in times like this. As I walked the airport corridors on my way to El Paso, and even on the return trip, I noticed things I might not ever have noticed before. In the Dallas airport, the floors were creamy white with flecks of iridescent rocks in them. They twinkled in the early evening light, reminding me that the stars will twinkle brightly for me again. I walked through four concourses staring at these sparkly bits, contemplating the rise and fall of their shine as I walked past. Each one lasting an eternal millisecond.
I watched as people ran to their gates to board their planes, and others excitedly grouped together for a much-anticipated vacation. Still, others ate by themselves in different airport restaurants. Little stores and kiosks tempted people to buy accessories for the flight – headphones, or neck pillows to aid in creature comforts. I noticed my own belly rumble, reminding me to eat. Yet, I had no appetite for food. I finally settled on some celery and carrots and called a close friend to pass the time for my layover. I managed to find a spot where there were no people, but where I could see the sun going to bed for the night, comforted by my friend’s familiar voice.
Gazing at the sunset as I waited for one of my flights to depart.
Grief teaches about love and gratitude
Through this process, grief teaches me the most about love. As the minutes ticked by at an interminable pace, I remember a feeling of love envelop me as I watched people at all six airports in which I’d found myself, as well as at the funeral, reception and makeshift memorial at that El Paso Walmart. Grief was whispering that people just want to survive, and hopefully even thrive. They need food, water, and shelter, clothing, along with basic social and emotional needs – the need to feel loved and be loved – and all their actions are spent to ensure these basic needs are met. After that, everything else is a bonus.
I wondered, too, about the person who took my aunt’s life on that Saturday. I don’t know his name, nor do I care to. Somewhere along the line, however, his need to feel appreciated and loved morphed into a sense of notoriety. He sure gained it through his actions. I will probably never meet this man. I intentionally did not look at his face in different news stories. I cannot speak for anyone else in my family, but I forgive him. Not because he deserves it. But because my own heart deserves it.
Grief teaches that in the most despicable actions of others, they result in the opposite: the kindest, biggest thoughtful acts of love. In gratitude, I am learning to receive. I am most comfortable giving. It’s what I do. Have you seen the free resources on this website? But I have had to learn to “complete the cycle.” So many people have come forward in my life – people I now consider to be family if I hadn’t considered them so, before – to send cards, donate to my plane ticket (I really didn’t expect that one!), text messages, Facebook messages, emails, phone calls, healing stones, cookies, rides to and from the airport, sharing in meals, hugs, happiness and grief. It has been a display of the most tender parts of humanity. In learning to receive, I am more primed to give. And thus, I will complete the cycle, too, in humble gratitude.
Life really is an endless juxtaposition of opposites. In my despair, I have found such hope.
Healing with Mandalas of Hope
When I told my colleagues about what had happened, so many came forward to support me. That afternoon, one texted to check on me. I was working on a mandala. I texted her the outline of it, and called it a mandala of hope. Intuitively I knew that I needed to complete one. I had to go within to begin my healing process.
The beginning of my mandala of hope that I began in light of my aunt’s news.
At this juncture in my life, mandalas have been calling to me. Even before I heard news of my aunt, I had been feeling the winds of change. I studied to become a meditation teacher and even as I offered free classes or created courses, I found a marked lack of interest. Perhaps it was my own energy repelling would-be students. Perhaps it was Source saying, “Yes, this is beautiful but this is not your path. Let go. Feel your way into it. Observe.”
I let go of my expectations of how I thought my teaching meditation should go. A few weeks ago, I taught a class on making mandalas – something I’ve never done – and incorporated meditation into it. It had several people (I didn’t promote or advertise and I wanted to keep it small), which is more than I can say for all the other weeks of regular meditation classes I’ve offered. The second class had more people join. The third class already has more people than the first two classes combined. I’ve been led to this path and it feels whole.
My mandalas are everywhere. As I write this, they are all around me: a few in drawing form, one in a constellation map, one in a lamp, many in the design of my planner, in my cup of tea. They have been whispering to me, telling me they have a higher purpose in working through me. I’m listening to their voice. Grief teaches me to listen. It is a gentle motherly wind encouraging me on this journey.
Forming a peace rally
They were continuing to whisper as my colleague came up with an idea: Mandalas of Hope to benefit victims’ families. She ran this idea past me, and I loved it. I already had my own ideas of doing a march or rally for the International Day of Peace. It’s now morphing into a peace rally with an art show, whose proceeds will benefit an organization of peace, such as the National Compassion Fund, the Everytown for Gun Safety Fund, or something similar.
My heart flitters with hope. All my mandalas are saying, “We represent the journey – of going within to ignite the idea of the inner pilgrimage that leads to peace“. I am in the process of lining up speakers to share at a peace rally in Asheville, NC on September 21, the International Day of Peace. The end of the rally will include an artist reception – and will include mandalas of all people in my community interested in contributing. The proceeds from the sale of the mandalas will all go to organizations for positive change.
That feels like my true journey. A journey of light, love, and healing through my heart center.
The completed mandala
I am so sorry for your loss, Cynthia. Keep championing for peace. Blessings.
Rebecca – hello, sweet friend! Sending you hugs and thank you for your kind words. Sending you lots of peace!
First of all, Cyndi, I cannot express here in words how sorry I am for the loss of your Aunt. Honestly, this was a tragedy that didn’t have to happen at all. I don’t want to get political here, but at this point (I guess I just can’t help it), I am just so over our current government situation, who is our leader and all the hatred and lies he spreads daily. There is no need for it and yet it continues, because he is a weak and insecure man at best. That said, I want to have hope that good can overcome this current political atmosphere, because we are all better than this deep down (seriously I hope). I am glad that you are doing what you can to help spread hope and love with your mandalas and the peace rally. Because honestly, we need to be stronger and louder in our hope and light than those in power that are truly at the cause of so much of this. Sorry for my vent, but my own frustrations have grown here daily as of late. Hugs my friend and know I am with you in heart and spirit on this always <3
Janine – oh, sweet friend, I feel your love and dedication to peace. I think many of us are quite over our government situation, hehe. I think the best way to combat all that is to be a champion of peace and love. It always wins. It’s coming together this peace rally. Soon I’ll make a bigger announcement about it, as soon as I get a few more details worked out. Thank you, thank you for your steadfast kindness. I’ll be by your blog, soon! xoxo
Hugs, prayers, and love to you and your family… Thank you for the courage to share this. A wise woman once told me, “Out of horror, comes beauty.” You’re showing the beauty.
Sweet Pamela, thank you, thank you! By now you’ve probably realized why I have not returned a guest post for you, hehe. It’s been an interesting month, that’s for sure. Thank you for your quote: I’ve already shared it with a friend who was recently having a bad day and I let her know that the beauty always emerges from its opposite. Peace to you.
I’m sorry for your loss Cynthia and for all the other, who lost those days. It is so meaningless to die in that way.
Good to read, that you overcome your grief with your powerful mandalas. Take good care of you.
Sweet Irene, thank you for coming by, for reading and for commenting. It’s good to see you and thank you for your sweet thoughts and love. Sending you lots of hugs and peace!
Thank you for sharing your journey with grief Cynthia. I’m very sorry for your loss and felt the grief with you, and also the hope and passion that are alive in your mandalas. I happen to think that being vulnerable like you’ve been is a big part of waking up.
May your mandalas help many people make the journey to inner peace and love.
Brad – I hope you’re doing well and that your work is fulfilling. Thank you for coming by and offering your condolences. It means a great deal to me, the outpouring of love and support. It tells me that there is still so much good in the world. It’s easy to get bogged down by the negative stuff, but there truly are so many things that do go “right.” The word, “vulnerable” is a big theme for me this month: it keeps showing up in different ways – through trainings, books, and even a friend of mine who is a monk mentioned it recently, too. I hope my mandalas can help bring about more peace through this rally. 🙂
I don’t know, Lil Sis! First of all, I’m sorry for your loss.
Secondly, I’m reminded of a line from a Dan Fogelberg song: “death is there to keep us honest, and constantly remind us that we are free.”
I think that’s how I look at death today. It does not frighten me. I do not spend time with grief. I’ve done that in the past and all is serves is to plunge me into a deep place I”m afraid I can’t escape. And so I celebrate the life lost and move on with the business of living.
But that’s just me.
Sending hugs and love
Big Bro – I admire you. Your calmness. I swear you don’t have the “grief and anxiety” gene like I do. And this is one reason I meditate so much. It seems to help squelch too many feelings of despair. I feel deeply, so many things in this life. But in the end, it comes down to this: how much have we made a difference to spread love and good vibes? Or at least that’s what seems to give it meaning for me. Sending you big hugs and love across the Great Divide. May you and yours be well.
Sending you love, peace and continued strength as you grieve, dear Cynthia.
Thank you for sharing the wise insights gained and for remaining focused on peace and hope.
Love you and big hugs, Maria
Sweet Mar, thank you – always – for your kind thoughts and words. They truly mean so much to me. I have your suncatcher in my car and every time I’m driving, I smile as it always reminds me of you and your beautiful spirit. Sending you big hugs, peace, love and wishes for a wonderful week.
I am deeply sorry for a loss so tragic and public. There is no understanding these things and that’s the part that causes the most pain. Ordinary people doing ordinary things and then someone with a deep, senseless rage burning inside lets loose on the innocent among us. I had no idea you were of Latino heritage. I don’t see people that way. I see energy. Grief has no timetable. You will have to travel through to come out the other side. I do understand bigotry. It’s quite ugly and I was hoping we were going to continue to travel away from it. I will keep you and yours in my thoughts and prayers. My most sincere condolences to you and your family. Love and hugs, Marlene Herself
Marlene – thank you, thank you for your sweet thoughts. Yes, the public piece was a whole added layer that was surprising to me. You’re right: there is no understanding, only the notion that we must keep moving forward in unity, solidarity and love. I, too, see energy. It is extraordinarily low energy that leads to something like a mass shooting. But I have seen the opposite: an outpouring of love and high vibrational energy in the aftermath. In fact, a monk friend of mine invited me on a retreat over Labor Day weekend, and I think I’m going to go. 🙂 Thank you for your thoughts, prayers, condolences and love. You help make this world a better place. xo
I found this immediately after posting my comment. It seemed to want me to forward it to you.
Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself
and know that everything in this life has a purpose.
There are no mistakes, no coincidences —
and all events are blessings given to us to learn from.
~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross ~
Marlene – this quote is so fitting. The fact that I’ve always wanted to organize something bigger for peace day, well, with the events of this month, it has spurred me on to do just that. I’m working out the details and I will make a formal announcement soon about it. I want to be sure that what I plan to do actually can happen. Hehe. Thank you for coming back and sharing this quote with me. 🙂 Sending you BIG hugs!
You have been in my thoughts, Cyndi. I am so very sorry you and your family have suffered this loss.
I too thank you for sharing your journey, your wisdom and your hope.
Denise
Sweet Denise – thank you, thank you, sweet friend. This has been an interesting experience, that’s for sure. I had meant to call the Doctrine that weekend and I haven’t had a chance since, but I will call you all soon. It’s promising to be a busy month with planning for peace rallies and going on a retreat, but I think it’s all going to come together in a spectacular, peaceful fashion. Hehe. Sending you the biggest hugs, warmest smiles and lots of love. xo
My beautiful friend. You are so full of love and light, even through all your grief. You are one of the strongest and kindest people I know, thank you for sharing your heart with us. I could feel your emotion and love pouring through every sentence. Keep shining that bright light, keep creating from your heart. Sending you so much love xxx (P.S. Your mandalas are a joy to see, I can’t wait to see more of them!)
Sweet Melanie! Love and light – that’s what I try to embody. It was healing to share my heart here. It was healing to write this. And I really do want to create a world with more love and more peace. Thank you for YOUR love. And the mandalas. Whew! I’m on #14 of 20 that I’m donating to the art show. Hehe. Getting there. 😛
Still find it hard to believe this…that what sometimes seems so remote on TV is really so much closer to us than we realize. I am so sorry about this, sweet friend. Sending you love and wishing you and your whole family peace during this difficult time and always. xo <3
Sweet Lisa,
Isn’t it so true? That which appears on TV can seem so far away until…it affects you personally. Thank you for your sentiments of peace and love. You are truly a gift to this world. Sending hugs to you. 💜
Cyndi, I’ve been thinking about you so much and sending you and family prayers. It’s taken me time to be able to even comment here as you feel like part of my own family, really. Take your time returning here and never feel pressure as your heart must come frist. You are so brave to have written this post and I can only imagine how hard it must have been. I get that you feel you must write about this to help educate and help from your website and that’s very admirable. You are so giving, even in your moments of pain. You’re my sister, always.
Sweet Christy, thank you sweet friend for coming by. I feel your sentiments and love and your big heart. They buoy me and fill me with hope and love! I have been absent of late due to planning the peace rally. 🙂 I am going to try to make another post this weekend to share about it. Hehe. Your beautiful comment here just makes me smile as I type my reply – I truly want to create a world of more love, more hope and connection. Sending you big hugs and love right back. You are my Sister. Yes, indeed. 💙💚💜
My dearest friend, you must think me very remiss to be once again late arriving here, to read such a profound and touching post that broke my heart, knowing you and your family were suffering the loss of your dear Aunt and in such tragic circumstances.. While I had no idea, so enveloped within my own little world of late..
Grief is a deep emotion that needs to be expressed, and I am sure there will be moments that this tragedy will surface and catch you unawares whereby the tears will need to fall again..
We cannot fathom the why and where with all of how such people can set out and commit such acts. But as you said, they too are a victim of lack of love, of thinking such acts justifies their lives.. I can not even begin to fathom their mindsets..
Writing, is an essential part of healing, letting our emotions flood out on the screen or within our journals.. Each word a release in itself..
Your mandala’s I am sure will find their place within the hearts of all of those seeking peace, love and healing, what a wonderful cause for their creation..
I feel helpless in comforting you, and guilty too for not calling by sooner.. and you must be feeling I had forgotten you.. I truly had not seen your post, dear Cynthia..
I am sending love, healing thoughts and so, so much love in your direction..
Sue <3
Take all the time you need to heal and gather your inner strength, Grief has a habit of not just grieving for one thing, but we find ourselves grieving for many things all at once..
Sweet Sue – please don’t ever worry about getting over here on a schedule, hehe. I haven’t been on a schedule here as of late due to planning the peace rally. I am going to try to update and have a post for Monday. We’ll see how it goes. Hehe. It’s been a journey. Even with mindfulness and meditation, the journey is not always so easy. I am inclined, after the peace rally, to hibernate for awhile. To really go within, explore all these mandalas and see where they’ll take me. It’s a powerful pull I’m feeling. I’ve been teaching a few classes to create mandalas and it’s been incredible. I see people responding to them brilliantly.
As far as the grief, after a month, it’s much less acute, thank goodness. But there are moments when it resurfaces, most often when I hear about other shootings, or…when we have active shooter drills at school. Neither of those are easy to deal with now.
Writing has always been one of my tools for healing. I spent last weekend writing my speech for the peace rally and will tweak it this weekend.
Sweet Sue, I always feel your love. Please release any guilt and sending you thoughts of an orange light to envelop you in happiness and joy, gently signaling your sacral chakra to let that guilt go. Hehe.
I feel your love. I have been so buoyed by love and support and I have seen the best in humanity in the past month. In the meantime, I have been pouring all my energy into this peace rally. I can’t wait to write about it here. Hopefully this weekend.
I hope you’re well, Dear One. I, too, am sending you love, sharing ripples of peace and hope that from land to sea and to land again, will create an arc of healing bliss. 💜💙💚