Tag: Compassion

How To Be Alone

by Raquel Rios, posted in Uncategorized

The sun burns your skin and you are alone. Turn toward the mountain and you are alone. Turn toward the sea and you are alone. Say, this being alone is me.

Watch the seagull fly high in the sky. In that flight, remember the story of a man. Think about fear and courage and making mistakes. Think about how each lesson washes over you like waves. Think about how the salt heals your feet and how to breathe.

In the afternoon, don’t think about morning. Let the past roll off your shoulder. There’s no need to hold on to every memory. Each moment should pass gently. Those we carry in a box are cumbersome and heavy. When we are in a state of love, moments come and go naturally and intensely.

Learning to be alone doesn’t mean you don’t love deeply. It means that at the moment, you have nothing more to be. It means that life can be your little secret. It means that you alone hold the key.

The tears still come; it’s tenderness and life. It’s love and compassion on your face. It’s surrender in your eyes. It’s longing and frustration. When your tears fall with someone, there is love.

When a man plays saxophone on the street, stop and love him before leaving.

Becoming Mindful of Golden Key Memories

by Raquel Rios, posted in Uncategorized

When we are unsure of ourselves, lost or grieving, we can get trapped in past memories. When we allow them to be through mindfulness, we find that buried in a memory is a golden key; a hidden message that can trigger a shift in consciousness for healing.

I’d like to share one such memory.

It was an ordinary evening before my husband died. He had gone into the study after dinner while I sat in the living room alone. A profound feeling of sadness came over me and I got up and went to the study. I leaned up against the door and watched him stare into the computer screen. When he looked up, I remember thinking his cheeks were pale and his eyes weary. We had been married for 25 years and we considered ourselves warriors.

 “You can go,” I announced. “You’re so tired and you deserve to be happy.” The words just poured out of my mouth.

Under ordinary circumstances, that kind of remark would have seemed out of place, but in that moment he didn’t blink. He just looked at me and I looked at him and it was as if we were remembering our entire relationship. There was love and care in that moment and I wanted to cry, but I kept calm.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” I continued. “And our kids? They are amazing. They’re grown up now and it’s okay. I just want you to know it’s okay, if you go. You deserve to be happy.”

My husband’s eyes closed and opened in slow motion. He was tired and kind. “What are you talking about?” He asked gently but somehow the question felt rehearsed. “Where do you want me to go?”

“You’ve been taking care of us for so long and you don’t have to worry any more. I’m strong now and time is passing so quickly and you’re so tired. You don’t have to take care of me anymore,” I said, getting emotional now. “You can be free. You can leave.”

He cocked his head to one side and a lightness of being spread over his face like when we were twenty something. “Where do you want me to go?” he repeated.

I just looked at him as if he’d forgotten.

Then, my lip quivered. “Home,” I said.

I remember feeling possessed with the thought that I had to give him permission to leave me, leave us. That he would not be happy if he stayed because it was obligation when his spirit wanted to be free. I imagined him running off to the country of his birth and living by the sea. How much he loved it there! Mostly, I imagined him at peace and carefree. His happiness was the most important thing.

“How am I supposed to leave without you and the kids?” He asked and then chuckled softly, gently.  

The moment filled with compassion.

Then, he turned away and after a moment, I walked away.

Back in the living room, I sat. I felt tender, sad and powerless but then the moment passed and I began to feel a little silly and confused like, what was that all about?

A few months after, my husband died. Later, when I tossed his ashes into the deep blue sea of his country, I thought he was finally home and his spirit was free. He had found the courage to go home and be free without me. At least that’s what I thought then.

Now, it’s been a year and I think, yes, he’s home and he’s free and even though we are not together, we are gentle kindred spirits with deep compassion for each other. What happened then and what’s happening now are simply part of our destiny. Becoming open and caring and mindful of these golden key memories have been part of my journey. That one, in particular, taught me how souls speak to one another and there are moments in life that transcend all reasoning. There is a language of the spirit and in death, in loss, in grief– we can open this window to reveal hidden truths about who we are and who we’re meant to be.

Love in the Time of Social Distancing

by Raquel Rios, posted in Compassion, corona virus, freedom, love, mindfulness, Uncategorized

Screen Shot 2020-03-24 at 12.16.14 PMIn this time of social distancing, I’ve started experimenting with erotic writing. Sex is about procreation and love needs to survive. I think love and survival are the two things we are thinking about incessantly.

My husband died in November. He was my best friend. Now, months later, the virus has the rest of the world turning in with me. We’re questioning how we live, how we breathe, how we touch, who we let in. In this strange new reality, I watch my personal grief projected onto the outside world exponentially. I’m not alone facing this great mystery.

So, I started writing a chapter about love. It’s a full blown love making scene. It gives me joy and pleasure in a very basic sense. Making tantric love with the right person keeps you captivated by the present. It’s discovering your innocence again. Writing about making love is like recounting what it’s like to fall into the fountain of youth.

When you lose somebody close to you suddenly, you’re left amongst the living but without any sensibility. You’re straddling realities, touching this and that, but mostly gazing into the beyond. This half self is a paradox and very much like the act of losing yourself in love. Suddenly, you’re swimming in darkness only to realize that the sun sets on purpose so the moon can exist.

There is little advice I can share during this difficult time except, try not to be afraid of loving in darkness. You can help prepare for the dawn of a more sensitive world. Try taking off your boots with someone special and laying together on a big cushion or pillow. Try imagining that you’re floating and breathe deeply together. Don’t worry, you’ll begin to feel something… like you’re touching, the great beyond energetically. Now, don’t hold back, that wild in you, and don’t hold back the wild in your partner. When you’re all out, raw and naked, you’ll still be you, except fearless and breathless too. Don’t be afraid to  expose your true nakedness, your vulnerability is love and love is your survival these uncertain days. Kiss each other intimately until you are lost in the cave.

It’s only when we cease to exist, we find togetherness.

Don’t worry about being exposed right now. We’re already exposed because we’re human.