No one really knows what will come up for them on retreat, but we can be guaranteed that we will get much opportunity to "look at our stuff." My latest retreat at Spirit Rock afforded me the opportunity to deeply reconnect with my body, experience some seemingly bottomless grieving, catch up on much needed rest and connect with other mindfulness teachers that are bringing this powerful practice into the world.

It is well over a year and a half since Shyla died, but if I reflect, I've had very little time to go deep with my grief until now. I recently sold our kayak, which brought a new wave of feelings of loss. I was surprised to see how much emotional grieving was still buried inside. For whatever reasons, mourning the loss of my life and spiritual companion was one of the major themes of the retreat. Here's an excerpt from my journal of a profound realization I experienced... 

Just hours after an immensely moving talk and inspiring workshop at Unity at the Lake in South Lake Tahoe, I was rear-ended by a young uninsured motorist while slowing down for a cat crossing the road just feet from my destination. Fortunately, I was extremely grounded and fully present in my body when the large SUV plunged into my vehicle. I was so present that as I assessed my body for damage, I talked the young man into a relaxed presence as he pleadingly apologized for his lack of attention and intention to make it right.

I'll share a few important take aways I've learned from this whole incident, but there's a little more to the story:

Fast forward a couple weeks and what I thought was going to be just a few sessions of acupuncture treatments for trauma and chiropractic adjustments has left me with an advanced level of emotional overwhelm. That and the building stress continue to leave me functioning at far less than half of my normal capacity. Writing on the book has gone to the wayside and coupled with the launch of my first in-person course a few days after my return, and I'm finding myself challenged on many different levels.

What's interesting is the thinking patterns that are arising. It's easy to be mindful and kind when things are going our way--setting intention and being present for ourselves and others--but what happens when we are under stress for long periods of time?

In the third semester for my Masters at SSU, we had a 10-unit course on the environment. Simultaneously, I was serving on the GE Committee in Lake County and undertaking the launch of what is now Lake Co-op. The layout of the class was such that the first 2/3rds of it was all the bad news about the environmental destruction, climate disruption and overpopulation issues we faced. It was intense and most of us in the cohort were finding ourselves deeply depressed--it was a heavy dose of reality check!

At the time, my annual silent meditation retreat took place over Thanksgiving break, but I still had assignments that were due upon return. It is recommended to not read or write during retreat, but to instead focus on becoming more fully present in the body, with the moment by moment direct experience. I usually sleep a lot the first couple days in retreat, but my stress levels had gotten so high that I was completely exhausted--yet, I thought I could mindfully read for my assignments.

Not a good idea--I not only couldn't relax, but the content that I was reading was so disturbing that I began experiencing heart palpitations, extreme exhaustion, fatigue and overwhelm. I thought I could just experience and observe the palpitations in the body, but when I spoke with one of my teachers, she invited me to put down the books and give my over-taxed nervous system a break. She pointed out that once we've reached the level of exhaustion and overwhelm, it takes very little to push us over the edge--again and again. My nervous system needed to reset itself and could only do so with lots of rest and kindness. The Acupuncturist I'm seeing for the accident concurs.

I don't seem to have the capacity for multi-tasking and planning right now. Which means I'm getting even further behind. Coupled with the extra travel and treatments, I'm panicking about how little I'm able to do.

When I thought I was getting better--the back and neck felt better, I was regaining energy and no longer frightened and on hyper-alert while driving--an attempt to get my exercise routine of golfing once a week (It's 1.5 - 2 hours of walking!) back in place turned me around quickly. I was exhausted in about an hour and had to retreat shaken and disturbed with foggy thinking, wobbly legs and an inability to do much of anything for the next 8+ hours.

Driving again became overwhelming and scary, just like after the accident, and I couldn't think through any decisions past the immediate moment. I was pushed over the edge again. My momentum has experienced another hiccup and I'm flooded with thoughts spiraling toward the negative--old thinking patterns. My typing is full of errors (more than normal!) and I'm seeing vignettes of distant memories of being ill in childhood. The depression I experienced when Shyla first passed is returning and I'm challenged to get the bare minimum needed for the commitments I have in front of me, much less planning for speaking engagements and courses and writing on the next book.

I'm seeing again a time when I should not push through the exhaustion and overwhelm. The good news is that my annual silent retreat is scheduled in just a few weeks. This time, I will honor my body and the retreat instructions and take a much needed rest for healing and to reset the nervous system. As well, to tune into that deeper still voice--that divine whisper--that can't seem to get through the layers of trauma right now to guide my next steps.

Here's a few of the take aways that may be helpful if you experience a traumatic situation:

• Go slow and don't overdo -- even if your body begins to feel better. We've heard this many times before. My acupuncturist, Svetlana Petriowisky of Lakeport, CA, explains that the body's healing continues far beyond the presence of pain. She says pain is the last indicator to present itself and the first one to leave in the healing process. There are many subtle layers to our system that continue to heal once the pain subsides.
  
• Be kind to yourself -- as you would your best friend--or even more! We live in a culture of high expectations. Knowing when to push through pain is a delicate matter when it comes to trauma in the body. I was feeling much better, but when I became quickly exhausted trying to resume my regular exercise routine, I knew it wasn't the time to push through it. When in doubt, stay to the kind and restful side of exertion.
• Ask for help. How many times have you offered help to a friend that is either ill or injured? You meant it and so do they. While it took me a few weeks to even discern what help I needed, once I asked for it, my friends were there in a heartbeat. A few simple things that helped me: a shoulder massage to release the growing tension and asking for the understanding that I couldn't multitask and process information as quickly as normal. 
• Re-prioritize. I had so many added items that needed addressing because of the accident. Contact and conversations with the insurance company, setting treatment appointments, renting a car, working with the autobody shop, picking up medicines and supplements. Each of these added a new stress to my day and I had to take extra time in the morning to discover and decide what had to be attended to that day. A lot has fallen to the wayside, but only temporarily and with conscious consideration.
  
• Rest! The body's ability to heal from illness or injury is optimum when we are at rest and even more so when we are not under stress. Our biology was not intended to be under stress for long periods of time. Today's fast paced world is demanding and recovery time from stress (much less, trauma) has been virtually eliminated. Taking extra naps, meditation and slow, relaxing body work can be very helpful. 
• Trust that you are receiving the healing and loving support of the Universe.  Opening to receive is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves anytime! You have arrived at this moment because of the loving support you've received since birth from so many people, the earth's systems and its inhabitants. Just look around you in this moment right now to affirm this. Trust this love and support and open to continue receiving it throughout your healing process.

What challenges may come bring us opportunity for more generosity, loving kindness and compassion towards ourselves. It gives me a deeper sense of compassion for those that have been injured or are ill. It is also the opportunity to slow down and take a look around at the many things we have to be grateful for.

After being invited by Patty Lanier and Lisa Kaplan to lead a meditation for the local One Billion Rising awareness event in Middletown on February 14, 2014 , I did some personal reflection on my history with domestic violence. I wanted to bring my story to the group in a way that could maybe be helpful to others who have experienced violence--sexual or non-sexual. What arose surprised me because I hadn't really reflected on it since my days co-chairing the Domestic Violence Prevention Council in Lake County in 2005.

What I appreciated learning during that tenure as co-chair was that there was absolutely nothing that I can do to elicit an acceptable violent reaction--ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Regardless of how I dress, what words I use, who I choose to see, where I choose to live--none of these choices absolves the perpetrator of violence against me. Period.

I didn't understand this growing up. I was taught that I could dress in a way that would elicit acceptable force against me. Or, I could say something that would justify a smack across the face or a belt to my bottom. What this taught me was how to hold the victim of violence responsible for the violence, when, in fact, it was the perpetrator of the violence that was responsible.

In my family of origin this meant that I held my mom responsible for my dad's abuse of her and us kids. What did she do and why didn't she stop doing it so my dad would stop hurting her? Why didn't she rescue us kids permanently from my dad's drunken outrages? (She ran away--sometimes with us kids--more times than I can count!)

My mom is long gone now. She died way before I became enlightened about the truth of alcoholism in the family and domestic violence. (They don't necessarily go hand-in-hand, by the way.) And so for all her living days, I held an opinion and perspective of holding her responsible for the violent horror that was my childhood. I never got the chance to apologize to her for my misunderstanding--granted our culture itself supports and perpetuates these erroneous beliefs about domestic violence, and I think we all grew up believing these, but I now know better. Can we be held responsible for beliefs we undertake from within the culture? As my friend and colleague Hileri Shand used to say, "When we know better, we have to do better."

In twelve-step recovery circles they talk about making amends for those things you did wrong. Ideally the intention would be to make the amends directly to the person you harmed. But, in those cases where you can't make direct amends, either because they are no longer around, or you may harm them or someone else by doing so (think affairs, etc.), they invite you to make a "living amends." A living amends can take many different forms, but one is to do something in the area of your error that helps others that may have received the same harm by someone else.

As I pulled my thoughts together for the meditation, I empowered them with the intention for it to be a living amends to my mother. To apologize for all those mis-held beliefs about her role as a victim of domestic violence. When I shared this story at the event and then led the group through the loving kindness meditation that included a portion on forgiveness, I realized the significance of this small act in my own healing journey with my mother and my past as tears welled up.

One other thing became clearly renewed in my thinking as well--silence perpetuates the violence. One of the powerful things I learned when working with Adult Children of Alcoholic issues was how the silence helped keep the dysfunction intact. We filed it under "don't air your dirty laundry," but it was so much deeper than that--and it really supported the perpetuation!

Since becoming a public figure, I constantly weigh the impact of my sharing the truth of our family history on the remaining members of my family. While I only have siblings and one aunt left, their experiences in the family may have been quite different than mine. At the same time, there are indisputable facts about events that occurred--the scars that are left, or not, are what remain for opinions, I guess.

I was uplifted to hear a report today on NPR about a new approach in schools called 'restorative justice.' The idea is that rather than have a 'no tolerance' rule on violence, where the students are suspended and the event is never addressed, they now have talking circles with the students involved and the parents of those students--instead of suspensions. The intent is to be open and honest about the incident immediately and restore communication and healing effectively.

This sounds like a great leap forward in our awareness of how to resolve conflicts without violence. As the facilitator of the program said, though, coming from a culture that embraces violent solutions, rather than peace and harmony, it's a difficult task to tow. The good news is that the process is shifting. People are talking, and, as the One Billion Rising campaign insists--no more silence around the violence!

My recent trip to Yosemite was the first summer vacation travel adventure I'd taken since Shyla passed in December. I went on my own because i knew i needed the time to process this "first" since her passing, as well, as i'm used to traveling alone.

I stayed outside the park at the Yosemite Bug International Hostel. On the first morning's ride into the park, just outside the entrance on Hwy 140, the granite begins to reveal itself in large slabs and boulders along the Merced River.

The river became reminiscent of a segment of the tributaries in Rubicon River region of the Tahoe National Forest where Shyla and I, along with a large group of friends, would spend extended weekends each summer. Most of the weekend was spent rock hopping barefoot on the large slabs of granite up and down the creek.

But there was something special about beginning our day out in that rustic natural setting in bare minimum clothing and barefoot on the rock. I would sometimes do yoga and meditate in the early morning coolness while Shyla surveyed the scene close by.

There was a humbling sacredness about the slabs of granite, haphazardly tumbled down the creek, and the little round eggs of granite that could be found in the crevices and washouts along the banks.

It's amazing how i forgot the depth of meaning these experiences held for me, until, when after entering Yosemite in the early morning before the sun struck the Merced, the granite slabs grew bigger and i just had to pull over.

I took some of Shyla's ashes with me and shimmied down the rocks to the riverside. The tears flowed at the loss of her, but it wasn't until i took my shoes off and my bare feet touched the huge boulders that the flood of memories of our experiences along the Rubicon flashed into my mind. It was like the granite held the memory of our experiences--or maybe it was my feet--but when they were reconnected, my connection to the sacredness of these experiences was reborn and i was instantly connected with Shyla again.

As my trip unfolded, i would begin each venture into the park somewhere along this part of the river and do morning prayers. This somatic experience helped me establish my intention for conscious sacredness in my day and gave me a way of remembering the deep relationship i have with nature and with Shyla.

When i sat atop the lookout from Glacier Point and pondered how the ice flow helped form Half Dome and the rest of Yosemite Valley, i imagined that the granite remembered every piece of ice and water that shaved off its surface to create the form it is today. It would have to remember, i reasoned, because as the ice and water touched its surface, just like that of a river slowly wearing a rock away, it took a piece of the rock with it. Regardless of how small the piece of rock got, the memory of itself--its essence--was still there and all that touched it remained in its memory.

I believe it is that way for our bodies and our lives. Everything that we experience through our senses and emotions have touched us and a memory remains stored in our body. The granite experience helps me understand this as does the experience of tasting or smelling something i experienced in my early childhood that brings me right back to that place and time even 40+ years later.

This reconnection with the sacredness of my relationship with nature and Shyla was a profound gift that reverberates in my life today and reminds me of the importance of creating time and space for tactile engagement with nature.

I remember becoming aware of a sacredness on the land at the cabin where Shyla and i lived for 10 years. I asked Walter if he thought there was something special about the land where we lived or if it was just land itself. He thought it was any land--that it was nature herself. I have to agree with my good friend. When i make the effort to connect with the outdoors, where ever it's at, my groundedness and place in the world becomes sure and strong and a vibrancy and aliveness takes over my being.