Pain as Meditation

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I continue to feel moments of deep pain for my loss of Jason. I expected to feel less of it over time, and I’m not exactly finding that to be the case. I do feel it less and less frequently, but it is still intense.

And I also experience moments of intense aliveness, grateful for what I have received from Jason. It used to be amazing to me after Jason died how I could feel deep sadness and the next moment be happy. It no longer is amazing to me; it is my current experience of life and it is beautiful.

When the wave of pain comes, I allow myself to fall into it, so deep it feels I won’t come out, and then I do. Easily. I’m realizing it is a meditation practice. Instead of wishing the pain to go away, I stay with it and become it. I become one with universal pain, and I find myself opening up more and more to compassion and to oneness. This opens me up to even more beauty, the kind I’m guessing Jason experienced on a regular basis; he was tuned into it and captured it on his camera and in music. I was so fortunate to be one of the first witnesses of his compositions, bounding downstairs to his studio to see his latest creation.

The pain is a clear reminder of the love and beauty Jason and I shared in this lifetime. Right now I wouldn’t trade it for anything, and I know it will ease with time. I would love to have Jason back in my life and I know that that isn’t and has never been an option. This is the path he chose, and he is the son I chose. It’s what is. My work now is to be with what is, and to be with it in a bigger way – the pain, the beauty, the bliss, the peace. Jason is holding me with his peaceful loving eyes that say there is nothing to worry about. I must admit that my pain sessions don’t last too long when the Jason feeling comes in, and I slip into another state of feeling I am on the right track, following my passion as he did in his life.

I am noticing an aspect of the pain that triggers episodes of grief, and I am watching it. It feels like resistance. There’s a part of me that isn’t ready to move on; I want my life the way it was when Jason was alive, when I could hold him and share my life with him. It’s a part that is getting smaller and smaller because I know that no matter how I “move on” I will always be “moved in” and I will always be holding Jason’s energy with me. Any resistance is keeping me from following my dreams, which Jason is always reminding me to do.

I also notice another aspect of the pain that triggers grief. I want to see Jason’s art and music get out more into the world. In my international Avatar course in January I received wonderful feedback from professional artists about his work, with suggestions to do art shows and offers to set me up with people who could help me in Amsterdam and California. It is overwhelming emotionally and logistically. I believe I don’t have the time to do this, and I will be working on shifting that belief. If it is meant to get out there, it will, and Jason will have a hand in it with the support of his parents, his greatest fans.

I also feel some intensity of doing the work in the world I am being guided to do. I help my clients do their work, and I am passionate about helping them do it more efficiently. I also want to help them see how limitations could be dropped to create what they really want. I help my friends move through grief and transitions, and I know I can use this gift in service to the world. Do I need to do this, or is it just a natural role? Am I attached to it? Does that add to any pain? Not totally clear, but I am following my heart, trusting it will get clear. My goal is to be in a place of pure beingness, without attachment, and with a pure sense of service.

I’m also feeling the transition of letting go of material things in my home in preparation for a physical move. I received easy (“duh, of course, mom”) permission from Jason to work with his father Chuck to whittle down his things. For now his studio is a memorial, with his photography and pictures of him, along with his computer files of his art and music. His chair has the senior T-shirt “Follow Your Passion – JF” on it. It feels nice to hang out there, and the feeling will always be with me, no matter where I live.

I meditate on the memories, on the energy, on the beauty of it all. Sometimes that feels like pain but mostly it is incredible aliveness and gratitude. I never would have chosen a path of meditation on pain; it chose me and it is showing me how I can be even more alive after a death.