During my morning walk last week I found this little possum, still warm, soft and supple.
I made an offering for him, to thank him for his life and for everyone else who left our physical world that day and those who are left behind with grieving hearts.
A woman saw me making the offering and stopped and said, "That's so nice. I would have done the same thing if I got here first. That's so nice."
Another woman stopped and said, "Aww that's so kind!"
I appreciated the connection with strangers with good hearts. I made a wish: Let's be the kind people the world needs right now.
Most of my daily offerings aren’t as colourful as I’d love them to be, although last week, walking through Fitzroy Gardens on my birthday, I cried happy tears to find camellias and collect them from the ground. I made an offering the next morning to a bunch of things weighing on my heart: being another year older, starving children, not feeling as sexy as I used to, the woman I know whose sister suddenly died, my dear friend wasting away with dementia, the man I know whose cat died, my client who’s fighting the system because her dad isn’t receiving the hospital care he needs in a regional area, and the mamas I don’t know (but read about) whose 12 day old son died for no known reason. The family photo of them sitting on the couch and smiling while holding their baby, with their dog next to them, after the baby’s funeral at his grandparents’ home, is an image that reminded me that other people’s grief is mine - yours and ours - too.
We’re all surrounded by multiple sources of loss. We all live with unmet longings that carry their own kind of grief. Some days I wake up feeling deeply sad for reasons I can’t name. It’s easy to want to blame my shifting hormones. Then I remember I’m part of a collective confronted by horrors we don’t even want to imagine that can make us - those of us with kind hearts who want a kind world for everyone - feel heartbroken and helpless.
So I go for my walk, make an offering, and the sadness softens and I become aware of the sunlight warming the tree tops and making the cobwebs glisten and the beauty fills my heart with joy. This practice keeps my connection with my heart alive. It restores me to my connection with others and the earth. I’m reminded that I can hold heartbreak and beauty at the same time and that makes all the difference. This is what we’re called to do in the face of loss and despair. Our open hearts bring more kindness and love to the world.
Making offerings is powerful medicine. Eating, drinking, shopping, working too hard, mindlessly scrolling the socials, or anything else that numbs only distracts us from the life that, deep down, we’re longing to feel.
So I hand over my grief to the earth. She needs us to grieve and she knows what to do with it.
What offerings will you make to your grief? To your unmet longings? To the life you’re longing to feel?
Held retreat: 21-26 June 2026, Bali
Usually when I’m launching a new retreat I’ll do exactly that: launch it, in as public a way as possible. I wouldn’t pop information about it at the end of an article, like I’m doing now.
AND - the Held retreat has taken on a life of its own that’s happened before my new website is ready and my social media and launch strategies are in place. A few spaces have already been secured. I wasn’t expecting that so soon. Part of me was wondering if anyone would really want to come. My sister reminded me that being at a retreat is the perfect place to transform grief - new or old - and discover its gifts.
This retreat feels like a homecoming for me, and I’m savouring each yes with a grateful heart and tears in my eyes. What I have planned for you - for our time together in Bali - is extraordinarily beautiful and special. I can’t wait to share it with you.
So, bookings are officially open. Here’s the link:
Held retreat
If you have any questions (or weird things happen when you click on the link, because Mercury is retrograde, and technical issues have abounded), please reply to this email. I’m here to support you in every way I can.
Love,
Tricia xx