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  • Cynthia Coupe

Sitting Still with Grief

Updated: May 5, 2022

March 13th, 2022


I haven’t sat still in awhile. Like, maybe ever, but certainly not since Frank died. I don’t rightfully know why, though I think it has something to do with the notion that I’m more likely to find my fate if I’m moving than if I’m sitting still…if there’s something out there to find I need to be looking for it…active in my pursuit of whatever it is. How can something come my way if I’m still?


Ah, but the stillness.

There is great depth there if only I remain unmoving long enough.

So much is available when we open, when we cease to move. Internal opening, deeper connecting, receiving what is available in any one moment. There is great trust there, different from the trust of following a direction.


In this motionless place I ask: what can come to us when we are still? What can come to us when we receive?


I notice more, see more, become more in touch with where I am.


Looking at the waves, feeling the sun. Being still enough to settle into my bones.

Why is this place so foreign to me, so uncomfortable?


It’s dangerous, now, the stillness– because he’s not here. When I’m forced to sit still I am forced to accept that he’s not returning. He’s not here, he’s there-here and I’m here-here and that makes me miss him more than anything.


So I sit.

Still.

On a beach I know he used to walk regularly, alone, when he was single…before we were partnered. How many times did he do that? Did he sit, or move? He was so good at stillness. At oneness with being. He was the ultimate be-er. (Haha, and he liked his beer, so he was good at that too…)


So cheers to you, Frank…cheers to the miles of beaches you walked, the hours of sun you watched sink into the Pacific, the decades of waves you watched crash onto the rocks. And thank you, thank you for showing me the way home, to myself, my body, my be-ing.


Thank you for trusting you long enough to sit still, for noticing what often went unnoticed…thank you for trusting me enough to follow me when I couldn’t sit still, for allowing me to lead where I was comfortable, and for leading me to my edges. Thank you for learning as I taught and teaching as I learned.


I love you always and all ways.





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