I briefly talk about my work in end-of-life care in this week’s essay. If this feels like too much for you in this moment, please feel free to jump ahead to what’s happening in my studio. Sending so much love to whoever needs it.
I’ve been practicing meditation again - and by that I simply mean setting aside five to ten minutes in the mornings to pay attention to my breath. Most mornings, just before or after my walk with Coop, I rest, alert and comfortable, in my cozy chair and choose a guided meditation. Often it’s a woman’s soft voice leading me through a box breathing technique, occasionally it’s a deep breathing exercise, on Friday it was a practice in gratitude. It always makes my mind clearer, my day more focused and less strenuous. I’m endlessly moved that five to ten minutes has the power to make an entire day lighter.
Years ago, as a practicing social worker, I would travel around New York City to sit with people in their grief. From deep Brooklyn to Harlem, I was welcomed into homes where I would visit with ALS patients and their caregivers in the deepest depths of their anguish. I would hear their worries and reflect, sometimes offering resources and practical aid, but mostly I would simply be there with them, riding the lowest wave of grief with people no longer able to move their bodies. It was an honor and it was tragic and it was my introduction to the power of meditation.
As each visit came toward its close, I would offer to hold space for mindful breath, or a gentle mental meditation if a person had lost control of their breath, as ALS patients do toward the end. I would guide them through visualizations, a glowing light traveling through the lengths of their bodies, bringing awareness to their physical worlds and calming the waves of their emotional worlds. I would sometimes record my voice as I led them, so they could listen and calm in the darkest hours of the night, when they couldn’t sleep because their crumbling world was just too much. Sometimes, on the subway home to Brooklyn, I would quietly cry and furiously write about the urgency swelling in me to feel all the feelings, the deep desire to grasp for joy, the sudden and crucial need to spread it as far and wide as I could, while I could.
Looking back, I didn’t practice caring for myself as I could have during that time. I took on other’s grief and pain and didn’t work through it thoughtfully, instead holding it close to my heart where it painfully swelled. I used meditation as a tool to heal and help others, but didn’t gift it to myself. Pottery saved me, again - feeling the earth in my hands, crafting it into pieces for holding and healing and spaces to share in community and connection.
I’ve found myself in a place where I’m able to gift myself the space and time to heal and take care using mindful meditation. Now, in the mornings, I focus on my breath moving in and out of me like waves. I reflect on the waves of life - the low points that feel like they’ll never cease, the high swells I want to ride as long as they’ll let me. All culminating into the wavy inspiration behind my most recent series in progress: the sweet little cup I mentioned a few weeks ago has morphed into an expansive pottery collection - reminders to breathe; reminders that the low tides will pass; reminders to soak deep in gratitude when you’re on the high swells.
May all we find the time and space to gift attention to our breath and ease to our minds.
May we all find gratitude when the waves are steady, and gracious support when they’re not.
My wavy pottery series is coming in its own time, as waves do. If you can’t wait, I have a wavy bud vase available now.
I’m so happy to share my mindfulness offerings all in one place on my website.
A vibe collaged from Pinterest images this week:
A messy studio photo: Some sweet knots made with air dry clay. Decorative knots have been a favorite to make and place thoughtfully all around my home lately. You can make them too (!!) as one of the guided activities in my Mindful Clay Play At Home kit - order yours here, if you’d like <3
Thank you, thank you for being here and reading my words. x