A time to dance.

This is what’s on my mind lately: now is a time to dance.

We’re watching our world accelerate into change and suddenly its effects are clearly perceptible. We’re in an experiment of shift.

In other times, we might occasionally notice the fact of change for its irregularity in an otherwise predictable pattern. The truth is, we all undergo and experience change from one moment to the next. These days, however, change is stark and comprehensive. We are, most of us, impacted by a big and total shift.

The recent demands that we return home, maintain distance, close shops, and otherwise severely alter our routines has sharpened our awareness of how change strips us. We can feel like we’ve been skinned. We become angry, agitated, frightened, worried; we become vulnerable.

Maybe we feel a little raw.

Current events, on an almost universal scale, are provoking dramatic changes. Traumatic, even, if we insist on resisting them. These are those changes that sever our tethers, loosen our moorings and dissolve our cords. We didn’t necessarily decide to see our former patterns released but here we are… floating a bit, and also stuck at home.

Our hearts initially perceive loss. Our hearts will long for their friends and communities and places and roles. Our hearts will suffer their disconnections at first. This is grief. It arises with loss – big and small – and our willingness to see it, honor it and move with it allows it to process.

Grief is appropriate, requisite and beautiful. We’re meant to honor our losses for what they’ve taught us. Grief provides that awesome weight to sit in the vacuum of what’s left behind.

It’s also an absolute gift.

And so is our willingness to move into it.

So, now is the time to dance with our grief. Now is the time to learn how to explore it with curiosity, courage and compassion. However it presents itself, now is our time to dance. Which means we have to listen in to our hearts to hear the songs they’re playing. Grief is as diverse as our world’s music. And the songs of our hearts will all play differently. Even within one heart, the playlist will be diverse, dependent on experience, mood, context and the presence of others.

So we’ll all be dancing a bit differently. Not every song inspires the same movements. And if you’ve ever watched a dance floor, you’ll know that one song moves five people in five ways. As we dance with our grief, we can remember this and smile kindly at those dancing around us.

As we reckon with loss, may we recognize in our dance the instincts behind our bargaining, the energy of our anger, the sweetness of our sadness and the wisdom of our growing acceptance. As we dance, may we discover our heart’s treasures. We are beings who love and connect. We are beings who change and seek something unchanging. We are, all of us, dying from every moment to proceed to the next. This is life. We are alive. We are life itself, at our best when we learn how to dance gracefully as every moment comes and goes.

The universality of loss, and the emotional charge that follows, confirms our lovely, connecting nature. May we realize the intricacies of our connections – those gone and those developing – and remember ourselves amidst the support. Our solace develops as we feel ourselves supported and supportive. We feel ourselves dancing with every connection for however long the song lasts. And then we say thank you as we part ways.

Now is a time for us to dance together. Now is the time for us to learn the delight of moving through grief, and saying thank you. Again and again. We say thank you to every connection as it buds, blooms and fades.

Can you do it?

Of course you can.

You know how to dance. Even if you pretend like you don’t.

I love you. Please feel free to reach out if you’d like to dance a little with me. Or we can chat about the goodness of grief. Or the things that keep us from feeling it and dancing as we go.

Write back.

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