For the heavy heart
a note for tender times
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A song I’ve been loving:
My heart is aching for those who are suffering in Los Angeles — for the people, places, animals, and land I know is so deeply sacred to so many; for the buildings and neighborhoods and landscapes and homes, suddenly gone; for the shock, grief, fear, and trauma thousands are currently moving through while impossibly facing all that has been lost in an instant.
My heart is feeling the tenderness of this time in our collective story. The great unknowns, the anger, the fear, the sorrow, the weight of it all. It would be so easy to turn away; it takes so much to bear witness, to feel, to stay. Many have predicted this year to be one of deep transformation, and I am already feeling the threads of change thickening in the air, and the urging to find more ways to stay with it all.
Today, I want to share some resources, places to give (linked below), and, because I know words matter even now, some words of longing and prayer swirling in my heart — particularly for those who are facing unimaginable loss and uncertainty, and for those who are looking ahead at the wide unknown, trying to find some sense of solid ground.
May your grief, your sorrow, your fear & your heartbreak be witnessed; may it not be rushed, attempted to fix, or pushed away; may it be held with the tenderness it deserves, cared for, loved, for as long as it needs.
May you find spaces to collapse, to fall apart, to crumble, to cease holding it all. And, if you are well & resourced, may you tend to your well-being so as to offer it widely.
May you know your feelings are just right, messengers of all your body is holding.
May the land, animals, and people find the safety, sustenance, and nourishment they need to grow, to thrive, to create, to love, to express, to rest, to feel fully alive.
May you give yourself permission to let your cheeks become riverbanks for the tears asking to flow, for your feet to sink into the holding of the earth below you, to find rootedness even here, even now.
May you find pockets of space that contain nothing but what is here in the present moment: a breath, a walk, a meal, a heart talk with a friend, your legs up the wall.
May you remember the gift generosity offers to all; may you allow yourself to give what you have to offer; may you allow yourself to receive what is given.
May power return to those who can wield it wisely, for the benefit of all living beings; may greed transform into generosity, hoarding into giving, hardening into softening.
May your heartache be a reminder of your attunement to what matters, of your open heart, of your willingness to look, of your care, of your connection, of your spirit.
May your capacity to dream of new, more loving, more sustainable futures guide you in moments it all feels a bit far away.
May you remember your small acts of care and caring are not small; they are enough, they are important, they are everything.
May your trembling be witnessed with compassionate eyes, with the gaze of someone who loves you in the trembling, with arms who can stretch wide enough to hold it all alongside you.
May you trust your own belonging even when you’re aching, even when you aren’t sure where to go next, even when you have no idea what to do.
May you find spaces you can pour all that you’re holding, spaces you can drop the load for a while, spaces you can rest, spaces you can release, spaces you can breathe.
May you reach for small tendrils of resourcing: herbs, hugs, affection, a warm meal, movement, a stretch, sleep, tea, an opportunity to give, an opportunity to receive, poetry, music, art, a glass of water, a space to share, a shoulder rub, an outreached hand, a moment of laughter, a long phone call, prayer, dharma talks, a movie, dreaming, feeling your feet on the floor, allowing feelings to move, numbing when necessary, checking out when necessary, slowing down even just right now, noticing, offering your attention to your own heart, looking through old photos, finding gratitude for all that remains, grief circles, singing, visualizing your most beloved place in the world, tending to the present moment as if it’s all there is, because it is.
May the heaviness find the landing places it needs; may it stay as long as it needs to.
May you notice the wide expanse of love and care being offered everywhere — the generosity, the giving, the support, the helping; may you allow the beauty, the light, the connection, and the love in, wherever it visits, knowing it gets to belong here, too, right next to everything.
Wrapping you in warmth, care, and love from here.
△ A mutual aid spreadsheet for the people, land, and animals of Los Angeles
△ A list of families and spaces who are in need of our collective holding
△ Support Black families who have been displaced in Altadena
△ Access to free mental health services for the wildfire crisis
△ Talking to children about natural disasters
△ Support for incarcerated firefighters in Los Angeles
△ Herbal support for the lungs and heart
△ Ten love letters to the earth
△ An invitation: place your hand on your heart, close your eyes for a moment, and gently breathe in your inherent connection to all beings… hold that connection… then breathe out your inherent connection to all beings… letting yourself remember. I’m remembering with you.
With care,
Lisa
So beautifully articulated , thank you Lisa . I particularly liked this one …
May power return to those who can wield it wisely, for the benefit of all living beings; may greed transform into generosity, hoarding into giving, hardening into softening. ❤️🩹
As always, your words are a balm and deeply channeled expression of what the collective is experiencing. Thank you for your heart and eloquence even when words can never completely suffice ❤️❤️🙏🏽