I relaxed my grip & dropped into a trust fall with Wild Boar.

Hi, I’m Lori and I’m a writer. I help people connect with each other using words. I am the writer, Reiki Master Teacher, and Shamanic mentor who communicates with you through OldGrateful.com.

When I’m at my best, I write simply, organically, and with love. Writing and words matter to me.

Then grief happened.

Under the fog of grief, I lost language. I lost words. Connecting my feelings to words was nearly impossible: I gripped my emotions too tightly to see them / to feel them / to name them.

Looking back.

I’ve learned a lot about living since Aunt Linda passed away last August. Experiencing her loss has shown me the duality of kindness and empathy, as well as the scorched earth impacts of their direct opposites.

Since then, I have been untangling a web of compounded grief. One by one, I’ve isolated silky, sticky, web threads from their knots. I give them names, the threads, and I set them free.

Photo by Shannon Potter on Unsplash

A few months back, in late March, the pain of saying goodbye to Cuddle Biscuit (our beloved dog) elevated my grief levels to raw status and brought up similar losses and unprocessed regrets.

Her loss broke me.

I felt fully wrapped in webs that held me together as I isolated myself.

Even now, three months later, the web shifts and renews. It returns unexpectedly and combines with the ongoing work of suffering, loving, holding on, and letting go.

Who am I?

During this time of feeling broken and webbed and wordless, I wondered, silently: Who am I without words?

Then, I began to listen to the persistent thread of messages / guidance from nature and spirit. Their voices were steady and consistent: “Relax your grip.”

I wondered, aloud: Who am I without my grip?

Also, really, my grip? Is this a metaphor for “stop trying to control outcomes” or “let that shit go” or something? Can I get clarification?

Over and over (since December), the same message came through … same words and nothing more: “Relax your grip.”

“Give it to Wild Boar,” a friend suggested, referring to my history with Wild Boar, the spirit animal who helps me release what no longer serves.

Why not give this to Wild Boar? It’s not like I’m assuming that the stages of grief will disappear. I’ll still love and miss those who are gone. I’ll simply be following guidance and trusting my mind and body to navigate life while holding on less tightly.

Huh. While writing this, I realize I am holding my breath. Why is releasing my grip so terrifying?

This feels like a trust fall with a Wild Boar.

And, you know, now that I’ve said the words out loud, I feel calm. Wild Boar can handle this. My hands are sweaty, but I’m not afraid. Trust fall with Wild Boar. (Sounds like the name of a Still Life with Oranges sort of painting.)

Photo by Jan Ledermann on Unsplash

Who am I without my grip? I am about to find out.

I close my eyes and visualize my backpack. It’s red, by the way. It looks like a pack that I almost purchased in Shanghai.

I open the pack, gently place all of the things that I have been gripping inside of the pack, and zip it up.

That’s it. I do not need to inventory what’s in the pack. I don’t even need to know what I’ve been gripping. I simply need to know I can retrieve it. This simple action frees my mind from the perceived need to hold on tightly.

I walk to my imaginary tree and place the backpack on the loamy earth. I look up and Wild Boar is there and ready. We make eye contact, as we have done for each of our backpack hand-offs over the years. I put my hands on my heart in gratitude. Wild Boar tips his head in response.

And then, I relax my grip.

---

Author’s Note: Wild Boar & My Backpack

When there is a part of me that I need to release, but I’m afraid I might need it back, I put it in a backpack. Then I release the backpack and ask the energy of my spirit animal, Wild Boar, to guard it. (Note: this is all in my imagination.)

If I need to do more work on the released part / memory / feeling, I know where to find the backpack guarded by Wild Boar. Simple.

Once the backpack is given to Wild Boar, I no longer think about what’s in the pack. It’s gone, and so is the fear that I need it.

---

THANK YOU:

Thank you for reading and engaging with Old Grateful™. Whether you’re supporting my work with a free or paid account, I appreciate each of you.

My grip is relaxed. Wild Boar is only a thought away if needed. In fact, Wild Boar is here for you, as well. Working with spirit animals is a life-enriching relationship available to all of us.

What support do you need? Click below to book a free, 15-min introductory consultation with me, Lori.

---