A Body in Flux, A World in Flux

Nothing lasts forever, and we sometimes forget this. But at a certain age our bones and skin will kindly remind us. 

Nothing lasts forever, and this truth seeks us out, through information portals of our choosing. Bursting into our grocery shopping or late evenings, whispering, “what was done is now coming undone”. 

Nothing lasts forever, and here you are, on a glorious marble that spins in the grip of a flaming orb, through unspeakable vastness, in the incredible, singular details of this moment. Yourself a flowing river. In a flowing river of history. In the turbulence and rhythm of life. You come to gates you will pass only once. Just as only once you lost each baby tooth, or had your first bleeding, only once can you begin sprouting such silver from your head and burning so in the night. Only once can you see such a world being reshaped around you. 

In your non-lasting form on this pretty, improbable sphere, some yearning will find you. What can be missing dear one? Where can you be held? What suffering or worry is in your heart? 

If you would join me, place your hand on a soft part of your body. Some life has happened here. Some joys have been possible only because of this flesh, this exact body. This gift passed to you, through ancestors long forgotten. You can breathe, deep and full, sending a thank you to this body, and a thank you for the ancestors whose own survival allowed for your here-and-now. Find a place in the body that feels well, and let your focus bloom into that place, reveling in the rightness of it. Should a pain ask for attention, let your focus bloom there, without flinching. 

If you would join me, learn the time that the moon will be in the sky today. Then dedicate one minute to finding her there, witnessing today’s step in her dance that she repeats over and over again. This is light that moves in tides, a power that creates tides. A light matched to the tides we have held in our very own wombs. You can send gratitude to this light, and know that you have held it, and you hold it still. And if today the moon is in her time of emptiness, know that you have also been an emptiness, but even emptiness cannot last. 

If you would join me, be rooted. Let your foot feel the earth. Or, let your hand linger on a tree. Know you are rooted here, and everywhere you step. Let roots bloom from you in your imagining. Let them remember the changing, nurturing mystery that our earth holds for us. Let them keep you stable and let them grow deeper still as winds find you. There is always more for you here. Always, you can be held, here. Our lives play out a small distance above this rich, dark majesty, which gathers every sunbeam and raindrop, every snowflake and leaf fall. Someday, what we have been will be returned here, and this has always been so. For today, send whatever is too much to hold downward to her, the great recycler. Feel your roots receive whatever is sent back. Feel yourself held, as small ones are, in the surest love and expansive understanding. Then, with three breaths, return yourself to the present moment. Reconnected, you are ready to feel whatever is there to be felt, and do what is to be done. 

There is no saying how your story shifts in the months and years ahead. If you find yourself awash in grief, or pain, or pulsing with a fierceness that is your birthright, this ritual is available to you. Your body, and the heavens, and the earth are here for you, and for each of us, as they were to our ancestors. No matter what is torn down, no matter what shifts, know that you have this. It’s beautiful and it’s terrible, and you are here, and you have this. 

Nothing lasts forever, and you have this. 

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Christina Cameli is a nurse-midwife in Portland, Oregon. In her private healthcare practice she supports those in the menopause transition, and as a menopause educator she employs metaphor, levity, and compassion as tools for understanding and inhabiting this unique transition. She loves a good paddle, a cold kombucha, and something fresh from the garden.