on transitions and grief//beauty in community
words: december 29, 2023 | poem: october 23, 2023 | film photographs: october 2023
it is the end of 2023, on the precipice of a new year. and it feels as though i am slowly emerging from the dark murky waters of the underworld. knee-deep still, for i am not yet out.
still within these waters and yet, stirrings are beginning to come to me in the form of visceral feelings. my head and body weigh heavy with them and thus, a need to transcribe these feelings into a series of words in an attempt to shift some of this weight - watching as it flows from the depths and out my fingertips.
as we end this cycle, i feel a somewhat rushed feeling of needing to organize reflections of all that happened in order to enter the new year with clear intention. though after what felt like a marathon this past month or so, and then getting sick, i find i don’t have the energy. i would love to put it all together in a lovely display to honor all that this year has held. this year that has been one of immense joy - the deepest love and happiness that i have ever felt; and also of immense grief - a heaviness, a sadness, an awakening of loss that weighs in my bones.
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this has been the year where so many of my lifelong dreams, my heart aching wishes, my deep-rooted intentions actualized and blessed me in such beautiful ways. feeling so very alive and present in this body, in this home, in this community. being moved to tears of gratitude. cherishing moments of such bounty and pleasure and beauty.
this has also been a year of being faced with unavoidable mortality. with the year starting with winter storms that shook me to my core. with the death of so many under the heavy hand of war. with the death of my grandmother, who was my last living grandparent. with the closing of my beloved pottery studio. with my brown hair evolving into grey. and after having back to back injuries throughout the year, ending this year with some new health concerns that spiraled me into a pit of grief.
i feel more tired than i ever have. i have more pain than i ever have. i am in the process of learning of what it means to be in this body, in this lifetime, in this moment. in this current state of being. i am learning in this process what it is that i need for actual self-care. for actual change. i am still learning how to listen. i began praying again. every day i pray for healing. every day i pray for ceasefire. i pray for the ending of war. i give part of myself in a petition to the Great Mother for deep healing, for nourishment, for connection. i pray that voices submerged under oppression are heard. that their prayers are honored. the weight of grief hangs heavy. the clouds of it, dense and dark grey. just wanting a break between the thick of it. to see that shining light shining down.
i truly believe prayer has power. because before action, comes intention. there is a thread of will that ties desire to the manifestation of that desire. the energy that it takes to move from a compact seed to a fully fruiting tree. needing to put the work in to harvest the fruit. and i know for myself when i am in my low moments, that it takes exponentially more energy to move even just a little bit further forward. in those times, it is the warm hands of community that i hear knocking at my door. and i have written about this so many times, it is nothing new. but what continues to come up is the importance of others - the importance of breaking through the shell of your own seed to come into relationship with those around you, with the world around you. to be held and to hold. the importance of reciprocal relationship.
this year i learned not only of the importance of community, but how community does not happen overnight. you have to cultivate it. there has to be that thread of will that connects the desire to the action. healing all of the past traumas of being rejected by reaching out and showing heart. reaching with a cup already full, ready to share.
and i think about how this can extend to so many other circumstances. the micro mirroring the macro. reaching out a hand to your own self for nourishment, for healing - gently stroking the tender parts that continue to ache. and then extending that out, out, and further out - pouring the love that we have ready to give to the parts of community stretching out to other parts of the world that are also aching. for we do not live in a vacuum. something that happens in one part of the world is a reflection of the whole system. what you are experiencing, someone else might be experiencing something similar. a bridge of connection.
when i first started writing on substack, i would offer an invitation for each post - often these invitations were questions to muse on. and as i think about endings and beginnings and cycles and the connection of our inner landscape to our outer landscape… i visualize a continuous flow in the shape of a circle connecting the outside in and the inside out. and since grief is held within the lungs, (and since i am navigating my own current respiratory system healing) my invitation for you is a short and sweet practice linking these questions with breath:
+ what is your community’s gift to you? and what is your gift to your community? +
on the inhale reflect on what community offers you, and on the exhale reflect what you offer your community - visualizing this as a circle, a path connecting you to the world around you. like the sharing of molecules. like connecting blood flow and oxygen between the heart and lungs. a receiving and a giving. you can continue repeating the same offering to/from for however long you like, or see how many gifts flow between you and the world around you. to bless yourself and those around you with deep beautiful breath and intention.
i wrote this poem on my last day living in my redwood cottage. as i sat in the empty space on my bedroom floor feeling sad to be leaving a home that had brought me so much love and healing, i grabbed pen and my notebook and these words flowed - i then read them out loud to the trees, to the birds, to the land. this poem reminds me how mycelial our connection is to the world around us.
october 23rd, 2023
it was on a whim i had needed a home my roots, tied to another, cut off at the source untethered, i found myself a heartbreak leading to the next when all i wanted was to find a place my bones could rest and the path had guided me the path that led me here it was my silent petitions it was on a whim i said yes i took a chance and how do i put into words to describe a place that was not only a home but more an extension of myself piece by piece i expanded myself i put my insides on display i surrendered myself to the exhale and in a time when i felt alone, floating, fleeting i found myself amongst the redwoods with their big grace they taught me they saw me and they showed me what it means to have roots what it means to stand tall what it means to let go what it means to hold and be held and what it means to be connected to place, to land, to home in such a deep way that the land becomes part of you and you part of it and i found myself here looking out my window at these big redwood trees and amongst the green i found myself and how do i properly give thanks to a place that has held me in so much healing, so much peace, so much teaching i do not know, but i will keep trying but what i have learned, here in the presence of a redwood tree is that to hold and to be held in love need no words and i now know that i am never truly alone for i have become embedded in this land and these trees are forever etched deep within my bones and it was on a whim that i said yes, that i took a chance but the mountains had known all along that i was coming home
song: since i’ve been sick it’s been days of comfort healing soup, so here is a comfort healing song. one of my favorites by one of my favorites. “On + Off” by Maggie Rogers. this song always makes me think about my nourishing friendships.. “And then I see you/When I feel like I'm drowning/And then I see you/It's okay, it's okay, I'm okay, I'm alright again”
mutual aid organization: The Sanabel Team - a community led project providing aid to the families in Gaza. find out more and how to support here
i am so grateful for you for reading these words. taking the time to hold space in your own space. my wish in return is that wherever you are in whatever transitions you are going through, you know that you are held.
if you enjoy these offerings, i would love to hear from you. and do share these posts with folks who you think would also enjoy a splash of rose and thorn. as someone who is still fairly new to bringing forth my work publicly, sharing my substack with people is the best way for others to find this corner of the tapestry. i am almost done working on a very special offering that is soon to unfold, so spreading the word of my words is so very appreciated to help me share this gift for when the time comes! stay tuned.
wishing you warm honeyed blessings.
with lots of love,
katie shakira
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