I suck at loss.
Some people are all gracious with wise words and delicate tears.
I’m not that person.
Instead, I cry at inappropriate moments and when someone asks what’s wrong -I can’t find the words.
How do you delicately say “My friend who I loved as my yogi sister killed herself”??
There are no polite words-there is no sophisticated way to handle grief.
So- instead of suffering alone (which is tempting) -I’ve chosen to express it, whenever it happens in the most authentic and raw way possible.
And I go to yoga where I can cry and my tears are mixed in with the sweat of the practice like a great big offering to the Goddess who knows better than I why things had to happen this way.
And I surround myself with fucking real and authentic people who can handle hearing about sorrow and grief and hold space for it.
And I hula hoop.
Sounds trite doesn’t it? Playing with a child’s toy as grief therapy?
Not at all.
From ancient times healing powers have been attributed to dance and movement. In early civilizations dancing, religion, music and medicine were linked. People from all over the world witness therapeutic powers of rhythmic motion on their bodies, minds, and spirits.
Dance helps to unlock our innate creativity, which contributes to the experience of happiness. It has got the power to awake self healing tendency, help to liberate trapped energy or feelings and recover the negative effects of stress and trauma and improve well-being.
And a hula hoop is an object, that is used as a tool to facilitate opening of the body for move, dance, joy and creativity.
My friend and I hula hooped together on the beaches of Tulum. We also danced, did yoga, wore bindis, and declared our outings in Tulum as the “Tulum prom” where we wore body glitter and broke the hearts of Latin men.
And here in San Francisco, I’m lucky enough to have some amazing lady friends who love hooping and we get together and talk REAL talk and then get lost in the simple joy of playing with a kid’s toy.
So- in my grief and in my loss I dance. I go to tons of hot, sweaty yoga. I cry at inappropriate moments.
And I hoop.
And somehow that circular motion brings my mood and energy up and I laugh at myself and at the Universe which has chosen to give me one big hard lesson that every expression of pure joy is precious and fleeting.
So I hoop and dance…..