We're struggling with some tough news here at Reginleif. We've learned that one of our dear friends has terminal liver cancer. One of the Gods I've turned to at this time is the Lady Sigyn.
I first felt Sigyn's presence when holding vigil at a hospice for a dear relative. She just fit in so naturally there, a quiet but determined presence, giving what care and support She could, a seemingly endless well of patience and calm, gentle, loving, but with a strength that took my breath away. Ever since then, I have associated Sigyn with hospice care, with tending the chronically ill. No, none of this is present in the lore, but it's a reasonable extrapolation from Her tasks in the cave.
Perhaps rashly, I pledged myself to the bowl meditation(*) ten minutes a night, for one hundred nights, if She would help ease our friend. Tonight was the third night--and ten minutes feels like a very, very long time. My arms start to ache within minutes. I shift my weight, trying to keep muscles from spasming. The bowl is glazed blue stoneware, and I not only have to hold it, I need to hold it steady. I don't use a chair, so within minutes, my back is screaming at me. My breath starts getting ragged as the pain builds. To my shame, I sometimes switch so I hold the bowl with one hand while I shake the cramps out of the other arm. But I hold it for ten minutes.
I stare at the glaze, my brain is oddly blank. Not meditation as I know it, more like the kind of numbness that comes after traumatic news. Is this mine, or am I feeling a tiny, tiny sliver of what Sigyn felt? When my wits make a brief appearance, I tell myself, "I do this for Sigyn, I do this for Loki, I do this for Narvi and His brother." Then I reverse the order, starting with the children, then naming their parents. I think of our friend, try to bear the pain, the doubts, the fear.
I don't know if it will help. But like Sigyn in the cave, this is all I can do. For another week and roughly three months. Ten minutes. 100 nights.
I first felt Sigyn's presence when holding vigil at a hospice for a dear relative. She just fit in so naturally there, a quiet but determined presence, giving what care and support She could, a seemingly endless well of patience and calm, gentle, loving, but with a strength that took my breath away. Ever since then, I have associated Sigyn with hospice care, with tending the chronically ill. No, none of this is present in the lore, but it's a reasonable extrapolation from Her tasks in the cave.
Perhaps rashly, I pledged myself to the bowl meditation(*) ten minutes a night, for one hundred nights, if She would help ease our friend. Tonight was the third night--and ten minutes feels like a very, very long time. My arms start to ache within minutes. I shift my weight, trying to keep muscles from spasming. The bowl is glazed blue stoneware, and I not only have to hold it, I need to hold it steady. I don't use a chair, so within minutes, my back is screaming at me. My breath starts getting ragged as the pain builds. To my shame, I sometimes switch so I hold the bowl with one hand while I shake the cramps out of the other arm. But I hold it for ten minutes.
I stare at the glaze, my brain is oddly blank. Not meditation as I know it, more like the kind of numbness that comes after traumatic news. Is this mine, or am I feeling a tiny, tiny sliver of what Sigyn felt? When my wits make a brief appearance, I tell myself, "I do this for Sigyn, I do this for Loki, I do this for Narvi and His brother." Then I reverse the order, starting with the children, then naming their parents. I think of our friend, try to bear the pain, the doubts, the fear.
I don't know if it will help. But like Sigyn in the cave, this is all I can do. For another week and roughly three months. Ten minutes. 100 nights.