I’ve had to learn, again and again, how to lean into water.
It was in my first Family Constellation workshop seven years ago where I finally found access to my weeping.
I felt unashamed in my grief.
I felt no pressure to explain or interpret it.
No one came to my rescue. No one pitied me. Thank goddess.
I could exist, in my experience of reality, uninterrupted. Compassionately witnessed.
When we aim to move just enough to regain a durable momentum, the weight of water: the grief, fatigue, and sorrow doesn’t have to pull us down into a deluge.
Water can be a plush rooting. A sober reckoning with the agony and ecstasy of reality.
I chose moss as our metaphor this Sunday.
Moss carries a quiet balance of earth, water, and air.
(And the place I am never lacks for an underlying fire!)
What is parched longs to be softened, held, restored.
Moss keeps water.
It shelters.
It creates soil, root, regeneration.
Metaphor is real for humans.
It’s where word and image unite.
Renewing our self-family, self-culture, self-other image perception.
Changed perception, opened perspective…these change how we see the world and navigate life.
When we’re aware of the field of others, the personal becomes universal and the universal becomes personal.
Before you know it, we are united. In pluriversality.
Moss is where exuberant green emerges with adorable insistence.
The shaded corners and broken places become sites where something soft and connected takes root.
So on Sunday, we will lean into the soft, damp, living ground beneath fracture and fatigue.
To soften.
To return.
To practice another rep in returning to our strength.
Another rep of dignity, restored.
Constellation spaces help us reroot, elementally. The places where the unwelcome and unfelt got stuck turn into places of rich composting for a richer emergent future.