Revisiting Anxiety

I have written about anxiety before,  but we are living in anxious, 9 of swords times  and could do with some reassurance. 

One of my main defences against anxiety is to name it outloud to myself - I am feeling anxious and I need to do something about it.  So what do I do?  There are many studies that show that going into nature - walks,  swimming,  gardens - can definitely help.  Putting your feet into sand or grass,  into the water's edge or earth,  that can help ground you. 

But sometimes nature is far away,  and sometimes getting dressed to go out into nature feels a bridge too far.  

I have found guided visualisations enormously helpful.  I've been recommending Belleruth Naparstek for years! And I'm still happy to recommend her. 

But lately I've been listening to Kenneth Soares,  who I found on Apple. I mentioned to him to a client recently and she excitedly said she listens to him too.  We both discussed how we can't place his accent (he's definitely not Australian,  as some have suggested!)  I said how I found his comments that I don't have to relax at this moment,  just gave me permission to relax;  whereas others telling me to take a deep breath and commanding me to relax just made me more tense! (I'm so contrary,  I know.)

I always stress to people that I find the ideas of guided meditations very helpful,  but many individual speakers don't work for me at all. If you don't like these recommendations,  don't feel bad.  There is a whole world of guided meditations out there.  Find one that you do like,  and that should help soothe you. 

Grief is like a wave

Grief is such an odd creature.  It just swoops in, at unexpected moments,  to wash over you. 

And I guess I just have to remind myself that I'm on the beach,  and grief is a wave that sweeps in and splashes me,  and then sweeps out again.  And the next wave may contain joy,  or serenity,  or more grief,  who knows...  but the beach is a healing space for me and I like waves.  

Maybe I can step back a bit and not get splashed so much,  but what's the sense in that.  I always want to be in the mix of life,  so I just let the water flow... 

A step back to normality

I did my first tarot reading since my husband died and it was good to talk about something other than me!  It was good to feel competent and professional once more. 

One thing I find difficult in my life right now is that people don't want to talk about their realities, because mine is so pressing. But all of our realities are important to us,  and I want to share in other people's life and stories.  I can't bear it being only about me,  it's both too heavy and too boring!  So I'm happy to hear about my friend's family weddings,  meet a new grandchild,  see the photos from the zoo.   And I'm happy to hear from clients too!  I love tarot readings and doing them makes me feel more normal. 

So if you are thinking of getting a reading,  drop me a line,  or whatsap / text me and let's see what we can work out... 

Liat

+61 0477 043 555

tribecatarotreader@gmail.com

All too real

My husband has been ill for many years now.  It was a slow progressive illness which kept branching off into new and terrible complications.

He died last Wednesday,  April 1st,  Erev Seder in the Jewish Calendar.

I veer between calm and sadness,  between acceptance and grief. 

Or all at the same time,  sadly calm,  acceptingly grief struck.  I cry a lot and then just as suddenly stop,  like a tap that doesn't know whether it's off or on. 

Just want the universe to know,  what a magical man he was,  and how sorry we all are to lose him.  He was much loved. 

His memory is a blessing for us.

Current favorite poem

I revisit this poem from time to time.  The first time I read it,  I was still menstruating and I kind of smiled at it.  But having reached menopause some years ago,  this poem grows stronger for me each passing year.   I think this is why we need poets to write about our own experiences.  Otherwise we just miss their amazing perspective and reframing of our lives... 

To my Last Period

by Lucille Clifton

well girl, goodbye,

after thirty-eight years

thirty-eight years and you

never arrived

splendid in your red dress

without trouble for me

somewhere, somehow

now it is done

and i feel just like

the grandmothers who, after the hussy has gone,

sit holding her photograph and sighing,

wasn't she beautiful?

wasn't she beautiful?