Listen to a version of this column on the Poetry in Eden podcast, episode #40, available on Spotify or Apple podcasts.
Poetry in Eden is a full-length audiobook on Spotify, Audible; an e-book and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble; a podcast with guest interviews on Spotify, Apple; and this newsletter.
The content varies, but the mission I write under is the consistent thread.
Unexpected, I sobbed in the shower — a mix of emotions and residual grief.
An old friend is going through something so unimaginable, you might think you were watching a blockbuster movie.
I listened and held space as she shared the horrors. I sent her the five stages of grief, because I know the process of grieving is long and arduous.
In reality, she is about to lose her best friend. And f*ck me: after 14 years, I still miss mine, my mom.
My mom was my biggest cheerleader. She was a buoyant light, full of wisdom and joy.
Everyone says, “She’s still with you,” or “Just speak to her. She can hear you.”
I believe it. I know it’s true. But I miss our daily phone calls whenever I was away. I miss her exuberant laugh, which also sounds like mine.
I miss her cooking. I miss her curiosity. I miss her lack of judgment and her selflessness.
I miss her ability to untwist me whenever I got too wound up. I miss her.
I wish you could have met her. If you think I’m special. . .man, she would’ve taken your breath away.
Jacqueline Ann McKenzie-Iyamu, born in St. Ann, Jamaica, walked to school with no shoes, but never gave up on anything or stopped loving to learn.
She never lost her Jamaican accent, even after years in the United States as an American citizen. She never conformed, no matter how hard society pressured and pushed her.
She was always herself. Somehow, she never learned how to wear a mask. I think she was too pure to even understand all the masks being worn.
Maybe I speak about her too much, or too little. But every single day for 5,114 days, I have thought about her.
Mom.
And I still hold unnecessary shame about how much I still cannot let her go.
But I am not ashamed of the shame. It has taken a lot of inner work to identify, name, process, and accept all of my emotions.
I dedicate this month to her. The month her daughter is featured in Vanity Fair USA. I know she’s so proud, crying somewhere with tears of joy.
I dedicate this month to everyone familiar with grief.
May the wings of angels fly you close to the sun, over mountains and rivers of pure and boundless LOVE.
Ho'oponopono is a process of taking responsibility for one's actions, seeking forgiveness, and restoring harmony, often through the repetition of the phrases: “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.”
I first discovered Ho'oponopono through one of my therapists in Singapore, who specialized in Jungian psychology and tapping therapies.
The practice is believed to help heal relationships, resolve conflicts, and promote overall well-being.
In fact, Ho'oponopono is often practiced alone — with oneself — while thinking of another person. In this way, it is an energetic healing process, and often involves forgiving yourself. It also emphasizes gratitude and love as essential components of healing.
The practice involves focusing on a conflict or wound, repeating the mantra, and visualizing the situation being resolved with love and forgiveness.
By taking responsibility and releasing negative emotions, we can create a more positive and harmonious state.
Ho'oponopono translates to “make right” or “correct.”
Since death is one of the only things guaranteed for humankind. . is there someone you need to forgive today?
Do you need to forgive yourself?
What are you holding onto that could finally be put down, burned, or blown away like your breath on a Mongolian dandelion?
I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
I mean it. I really, really mean it.
I still miss the people and places
I never said goodbye to because
I hate goodbyes. And in a shy
Attempt to move on, sometimes
All I have is a song that puts our
Energies into contact. It’s the
Wizard’s dance around the fire.
But, who built that pyre?
And who made the rules?
It is the fuel in the engine and
The ignition that brought me on
This next mission. Man, I wish
You could see this too. The sky is
Cotton candy pink, purple, and blue!
Ohhhhhhh. . . The vine is true,
So, let it carry and bless you.
Yes, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
Thank you. I love you.
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