Searching for the Light

It’s been two months since my mom died, and I’ve been waiting.

Waiting to turn a corner. Waiting to feel settled. Waiting for her to show up in the ways people promise loved ones do. I thought by now something would have shifted — a glow on the horizon, a sign, a sense that I was moving out of this. Instead, I’m learning that grief doesn’t move on my timeline. It doesn’t respond to impatience or bargaining. It simply expects me to walk with it, and honestly, it feels like walking through tar.

Recently I’ve been thinking about the monks who just completed their 2,300-mile walk for peace. They didn't walk to get somewhere faster. They didn't walk to escape where they are. Each step was the practice. Each step was the arrival. There’s a teaching that says, “Always begin from within.” It reminds me that the work of grieving has to come from inside myself, no matter how many steps or stages it takes.

Life is full of waiting — traffic, lines, promotions, weekends, milestones, vacations, the next version of ourselves. And grief adds another layer: waiting to feel better, waiting to feel normal, waiting to feel light again. But the monks didn't wait for perfect conditions to walk. They walked in whatever weather was present — sun, rain, wind, snow. That’s the wisdom I can hold right now. That I will need to carry this grief through seasons, conditions, and moments in order to return to the light.

If you’re in your own season of waiting — for healing, answers, change, relief — maybe the practice is the same. Not to force the light, but to trust that it will return, and to stay in the relationship with your life as it unfolds right now. We practice this every time we come to the mat. We don’t skip to the end of class. We inhabit each posture as it comes. Some are steady. Some are shaky. Some we want to leave immediately. And still, we stay. We breathe. We walk ourselves through. Thank you for walking with me in this season.

Yours in Practice,

Beth

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