Blessing What's Here

A practice in turning toward that which I want to reject: fear

I’ve begun a journaling practice where I write a blessing for whatever emotion is buffeting my weary spirit. Before I try to understand it, tame it, or exile it, I bless it. Why?

Because the late poet and activist Andrea Gibson once said, “Everything coming my way is god.” At this point, Andrea knew that what was coming their way was terminal cancer. Because I trust grief and because so did/does Andrea, I trust how grief alchemized their pain and loss into this near-euphoric love of life. I want my heart that open.

As I look midlife square in the eyes, everything coming my way has felt absolutely nothing like god. I have watched as much of what I built in the first half of my life has crumbled or slipped through my fingers. Old griefs and fresh wounds have battered my spirit and shaken truths I used to find self-evident.

So why have I begun to write blessings to what’s here? Because I do not want to spend the back end of my life fighting against it. Because I think Andrea was right. Because midlife is asking me to lay to rest many things I thought I couldn’t live without. It is asking me, “What if this is the good life?” Since this life—specifically—is mine, what if it’s exactly the one meant for me? What if everything coming my way is god?

This robin, for sure, is god. Photo by Stephen H. B. Packer.

Here’s a blessing I wrote for fear.

I bless this fear,
the voice that says it won't work out.
I bless this fear,
the knowing feeling that it's better not to try.
I bless this fear,
that tells me to get a little more perfect first.
I bless this fear,
the reminder of all the times I've failed before.
I bless this fear,
that what's good is in the past and gone forever.
I bless this fear,
the voice that wonders if it'll ever be the same again.
I bless this fear,
that knows the cost of trying and doesn't want me to pay it anymore.
I bless this fear,
the one that worries about how deep love goes and if it's deeper than my flaws.
I bless this fear,
that I'll never know for sure and I'll never get it right.
I bless this fear,
the one that says it's already lost.
I bless this fear.
May I be gentle with her and return her
to her rightful place
in the chorus of my heart.
She was never meant to sing solo.

What I love about this blessing practice is that it doesn’t require any affection on my part. I don’t need to love my fear, just to bless it on it’s way. Since it’s here, may it be blessed. This is not some dissociative, toxic positivity practice. Rather, it is an invitation to turn toward my life exactly as it is right now.

As I walk ever closer into my fourth decade on this good Earth, I am less interested in trying to build a life and more interested in making friends with the one I already have.

May all that is present in your life today be blessed.

In grief,

Claire

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