How is it even possible?

I think I have a deeper understanding now of how people can get quite sick during their grieving process.

It’s relatively easy to just get on with life and keeping on ‘doing’, as per usual and yet everything feels remarkably different (and simultaneously the same). Biologically, physically, it is all so different. Mentally, emotionally - am I even the same person? My mind is processing information differently, my emotions move in ways so unpredictable.

So I get it. I can see how when grief is tucked away into the crevices and corners to collect dust and when we don’t give it the air time, the space to be wrung out dry that it will eventually fester, like a wet jacket shoved into the back of a dusty closet - soon to be covered in mould. Isn’t that the way with all of our human suffering? It must be felt.

We must hold space for the technicolour spectrum of our stories.

I am not sick. I am miraculously doing quite well, all things considered, but I can feel the tension, the contraction, the closing down, the suppression, the ache of it all - I can feel it building in my body. It’s making itself very known.

Don’t forget about me, says grief, don’t forget to feel me, ok? Please don’t forget otherwise I’ll have to knock on you a little louder.

Truly, the only thing that helps at the moment is to move my body and to sit in my grief. Not constantly, not always. Just enough to let the pressure out.

So I do, I sit, I touch on the ouchy parts. I breathe. I cry… big, fat, wet tears that seem to come from a never ending pool. I cry past the point of ‘that was a good cry’… I cry even when I wish I could stop crying.

If a wave of reflective sadness moves through me at 10:45pm - way past my bedtime - and when very time I close my eyes and attempt to ignore it it just rolls in stronger, I just pick myself up and sit somewhere quietly. Perhaps in front of the fire, which is the very place I went to when I get that phone call from my brother "(Claire, it’s… it’s Dad. He’s gone…”). And so I sit. And I say to grief - OK, I’m ready. And then my heart aches, and the emotion ripples and builds and waves. And sometimes it’s a choking cry, sometimes it’s just a sadness… sometimes it’s so much love breaking through that it physically catches my breath.

That latter part is important. Very.

Love is what we feel inside of grief - when we are willing enough to really be with it. Grief feels like a love that is so all encompassing and unconditional that our little human selves don’t know what to do with it.

Dad had previously shared (via a friend who is a medium) that my grief was like a wild fire - that it would burn bright and fast (perhaps not so fast in human, linear time!) And when it finally settled and new shoots of life were growing through and for me, that’s where he’d be. Waiting to walk with me as my guide through this life. Isn’t that just beautiful.

Very recently, during a session with my Pleiadean Lightwork Mentor, my father connected in again and shared that sometimes when our loved ones are trying to connect with us we miss the transmission because we are hit by a way of grief… but what we are really feeling is LOVE. Their unconditional, never-ending, all encompassing, eternal love.

He asked me to feel my grief, the wildfire of my grief as a burning love… what a gift. A gift I will endeavour to accept and to feel in every way I can.

And yet my human self asks but how will I live this life only to feel his love through grief and know that I will never see his half-little smirk at my youngest child cheeky comments.

Or that I will never hear him say - like a soft little teddy bear - “I love you” to my children, his beloved grandchildren.

Or that I’ll never, ever, feel his papery 87 year old hands again.

Or that no one, ever, will call me ‘Clairey’ with such affection, the way he used.

And all that being said, it blows my little human mind that it is possible that I can feel this much grief-love AND continue on with life just as it’s always been? How is it even possible to hold all of it at once. It is, because I am and so many of us have and will.

How is it possible that we can hold all of life - the grief, sorrow, suffering juxtaposed and layered with joy, laughter, love, play, routine, work. It’s a question that doesn’t need answering. Because I know - just as I know that my father is closer than ever before and that he is across worlds, time and dimensions - that we have the capacity for so much and that is precisely why we incarnated (and continue to do so) because it’s this full-spectrum, multi-faceted journey of LIFE that teaches, shapes and transforms the soul.

All my love

Claire x

Navigating Grief

I’m no expert on grief, I’m certainly not the first to experience it. And with all things, grief is just as individual as our unique fingerprint.

And yet there seems to be one thing that is true for all of us who have said goodbye to someone we love - grief moves like a wave.

Sometimes it’s still, calm and quiet. With a soft inner knowing. And other times it rolls on in never ending undulations. Sometimes we are ready for the wave and other times it feels like an unexpected, shocking crash. 

As I write this I’m sat with my morning cacao, by the Olive tree planted in memory of my father, my beautiful Baba. There are tears streaming down my face that are so big, fat and unstoppable. I’m marvelling that my body keeps producing these salty drops. I’m listening to the song we played as my husband, brother, nephews and nieces carried my father out of the church. Ya Tair by Fairuz. This song equally rips my heart out and fills me with a deep and beautiful love.

Grief is profound like that - painful and yet simply exquisite all at the same time. My mind boggles at that juxtaposition… and the ALL-ness of this human life. All of it, all at once. 

As I write this, it’s only been 23 days since my father left his earthly body, finally free of pain and free to weave magic from beyond. At the ripe age of 87, I’m in awe that this man was (still is) my father, my Baba. I’m in awe that I have been loved like he loved me, that I can mourn his death and celebrate life. I’m in awe that everyday there is magic and mystery and beauty… and grief.

All of this is wonderful and wild to me. What an initiation it is to say goodbye to a parent. I bow to all of you before me who have ridden these waves. And I ready myself to hold all of you have yet to do so. This is what it means to be human. 

Life.

Death.

Rebirth. 

Is there anything else? This is what we truly know. Nothing else is as constant as this cyclical change. 

And threaded into all of it is LOVE. 

Recently, a friend sent me this message. A beautiful man and new father. A man I see as standing strong in his divine masculine.

He said:

“Claire, I just wanted to say you are a truly incredible human. Your commitment of deeply being with the present no matter how difficult or painful, and feeling it all shows how true to the path of love your whole being is and how you shine that light of love in the world”… 

Such words I don’t feel worthy of, and yet as I read them I think to myself, is there really any other way? 

Presence.

True to love.

Shine and share the love.

If there’s anything I want to take from this recent rite of passage it is a deeper commitment and embodiment of love.

I have a lot more ego story to shed, I have a lot more of my own wounding to heal. I have alot more of my own limitations to break through, but I know that I am already whole. And I can continue you on joyfully and reverentially through this life if I remember this deeper love that is within me. A love that is awakening because of the very grief I’m experiencing.

Something that feels so deeply personal yet is so universal. A grief that often leaves me feeling alone in the experience of it, yet not lonely. A passage that feels exhausting and relentless yet most certainly is not one to rush or bypass. A journey of surrender, acceptance and allowing whilst moving forward and choosing the living.

Let’s see where this takes us.

In love,

Claire

Life Update

*Please note: this post was sent out on June 7th via my newsletter. I’ve since decided to share it here on my website.

I wasn't so sure when I would share this deeply personal life update but just today I really felt it would be quite supportive for me to do so. Before I go on, please know that I am currently navigating death and grief. I offer this as a gentle warning if you are not in a place to receive this. 

And if you are I hope you receive it with love, tenderness and respect for the birth-death cycle that we are all part of. I hope it opens you to the beauty and magic of being an infinite soul having a full-spectrum human experience. 

I’m sharing today not to receive attention or your condolences but because there are so many of you who I know would want to send love, light and prayers during this time. I simply don’t have the capacity to privately connect with each of you. Just as I would share and celebrate the birth of my children I must do the same for the death of a loved one. They are two sides of the same coin. 

And secondly - as a Priestess, Space Holder and Mystic I live by the truth that life is death and death is life. Honouring the seasons and cycles is part of who I am. Being fully IN the shadow when called to - embracing all of our humanly experience whilst also holding, with unwavering trust, the beauty and magic of our infinite divinity. If I am to truly embody this I must do so even when its painful.

I do not write this as teacher, a guide or a Guru, or an expert. There are no "lessons" I have to impart (although I can feel the silver lining that will one day be shared). I share as human to human, friend to friend, woman to woman... I share because that's what we do. 

+++

Let us begin.

Tomorrow my family and I will be officially sending off my Baba - my father - at his funeral. Returning to him home to the light of the divine mother-father.

My father, as many of you know has been battling for many years with kidney failure and the myriad of challenges that have unfolded when the body slowly weakens. I have said “goodbye” to him too many times to count. I have been “preparing” for the end for years. Literally. Anticipatory grief is a real thing.

As life would have it - with all its curve balls and coupled with my father's innate nature to be a disruptor - I was called home early from Bali. I left my beloved work with Lorraine after finding my replacement to co-host the retreat. I cancelled our family holiday. The inconvenience and financial cost was huge and yet the immediate visceral grief in my body told me that the time was now and nothing else matters.

I flew home and straight to his bedside in the hospital (that journey home deserves it’s own seperate post if I am honest) where he was in palliative care after covid and Pneumonia took his last reserves of strength. I literally ran through the airport, praying I would make it in time.

I did… I had 2+ days with him. My siblings and I sat by his bedside non stop.

Listening to his final wishes, hearing his wisdom.

Caring for him. Tending to his body.

Making him smile through the pain.

Remembering. Laughing. Watching.

Witnessing him slowly surrender. Make peace. Do his penance. Release his karma.

Curling up and breathing him in through salty tears. Holding his ancient hand. 

We said I love you a thousand times over. I'm still saying it, over and over and over. 

It was beautiful. It was painful. It was brutal. It was healing. It still is… and I know this is just the beginning.

He passed, peacefully, just after midnight on Sunday morning. He passed as the skies unleashed never ending rain. He passed with only one of my sisters in the room and when she had finally surrendered to sleep. He passed just as I had prayed he would. Finally accepting his worthiness to return home to love. I sat by the fire at 1am in the morning, howling in pain. Whispering his name. Breathing in a pattern I’ve never breathed before.

Shocked and accepting it, all at the same time. No amount of anticipatory grief can prepare you for the way your heart physically shatters and hurts. No amount of preparation can hold you as your guts twist with the news you were waiting for.

He spoke of the “beautiful, amazing place, all misty and full of white light” that he could feel and see before he passed. He could see all his children and grandchildren around him even when we weren’t in the room. He was surrounded by love and the presence of loved ones both here and through the veil. Finally, at the end, my Baba received the deep peace he deserved after many years of suffering.

My sister and I visited his body where I anointed him in Myrrh - the oil of transition. As a Priestess it felt right that I do this. Tonight as a family we will be with him again one more time where I will smudge his body with Frankincense, Myrrh and Copal, anoint his body and play the singing bowls to assist his soul to fully release the shackles of this earthly existence. This feels incredibly overwhelming but necessary. As does reading the eulogy I have written. 

I want nothing more than my Baba to feel fully at peace, held and cradled in the light of the highest love. I feel his presence and am receiving his signs and symbols constantly. Closer now than he ever was.

I feel deeply blessed and at peace and yet also heartbroken. There is Grace and Humility and there is Hrief beyond anything I’ve experienced in this life.

As we were meant to be away on holidays this week I’ve had alot of space from work and clients to completely honour this portal.  I’ve never felt more alive and present, more OK and at peace and more heartbroken and in grief. Waves rolling in and out. Some of the crash and others just ripple.

All of it at once, the juxtaposition of life as a divine human being.

I’m looking forward to saying goodbye at his funeral as I know that is truly the beginning of the next iteration of our relationship that will last a lifetime and beyond. I’m looking forward to returning to my work and to savouring this incredible gift of life.

So precious. So deeply magical and precious.

I am a private person and yet I am also not too shy to share the truths and realities of life - all the shades that we colour with. So please bear with me as I navigate this time - I may feel driven to share a lot, or a little, to share only about my work or nothing at all. I feel no obligations but I love this community so it feels right to offer this important life update.

Thank you for reading. For witnessing and walking with me. 

If you feel to please send my father, Len Obeid, your prayers and love. Send him home into the light. I will be holding vigil for 40 days to support his transition and any prayers you offer his way please know I am deeply grateful. 

Please, go and call someone you love about and tell them how grateful you are for them and how proud you are to know them and love them. It’s always a good idea.

I know that many of you have faced the death of a loved one and journeyed through grief. I see you. I honour and recognise all that you have felt and still carry within.