Breaking up, open, through
An update, an event, a poem and a blessing
Hi,
What’s in this post:
some sharing about my life and learning this past year
info about a free, online event about polyamory and breakups at which I’ll be speaking
a poem about breaking
and a Talmud teaching/blessing about grief and joy.
Update:
I can hardly believe 2023 is almost over. The last 5 months have mostly been a blur of loss, grief, disappointments and darkness for me, which I hope to be finally emerging from now. The past 12 months saw me through 4 break-ups. And if you’ve been with me for a while, you know that I believe there’s magic in darkness and opportunities for holiness in almost every experience. Yes, even in breaking up. This year, I have been on a journey of becoming and these breakups have been an integral part of this journey.
Polyamory has taught me that success in relationships isn’t measured by longevity, but by health, happiness, fit, honesty and presence. I believe that breaking up can lead to breaking open and breaking through (maybe after breaking down.) And the Tarot card that has been guiding me through all this breaking is the 3 of Swords. Also known as The Heartbreak Card. After all, she reminds me of one of my favourite kabbalistic teachings: that a perfect vessel has no room to grow or change. It’s only when broken that light can get in and new possibilities can emerge. (I share a poem at the end of this post, inspired by this teaching.)
Being polyamorous has led me to more break-ups in a year than ever before. I’d like to think I am getting more adept at them. For me, this means communicating more about what fit looks like in my relationships, and what conscious breaking up can look like, too.
I’ve had teary, intentional, beautiful conversations and rituals with some partners as we shifted the dynamics of our relationships. And with others, there were heart-wrenching phone calls filled with moments of silence and followed by tears of release and disbelief.
I’m proud of the all these endings, whether marked with ritual or with space and silence. Like the people and relationships, each ending had different needs and so did I.
And thank Goddess, each one was followed by support through texts, calls and cuddles with friends and other partners.
One of those friends is Relationship and Polyamory coach, Elizabeth Cunningham. Elizabeth is hosting a one-day, online event this week on Polyamory and breakups and I’ll be a guest speaker, talking about breakup rituals and mindset.
Event:
The whole event, “Polyamory and Breakups” seeks to promote education, awareness, and open dialogue surrounding polyamory and breakups, allowing individuals to gain insights, support, and tools to navigate their own polyamorous (and breakup or dynamic-shifting) journeys.
And of course, so much of the content will be relevant to monogamous folks, too.
The event will be live on Wednesday, December 13, from 12-8 EST (9-5 PST) and I’ll be speaking at 2:15pm EST.
Tune in live for my talk and the 15 minute Q&A that follows and/or tune in to hear the other 11 speakers share their experiences and wisdom about polyamory and breakups, all moderated with care and laughter by Elizabeth (thank God/dess, there is always laughter with Elizabeth!)
If you can’t make it live or just want to watch the sessions again, you can purchase the recording of the whole event after you register.
Poem:
Here is the poem I promised. It’s still rough around the edges and I invite you to think of its progression as spirular rather than linear. Maybe even play with reordering the stanzas and see what happens. This poem is more about me than the breakups I have been through but they are also in here. Whether you are in a period of breaking open, breaking down, or breaking through, I hope there is something in here to keep you company.
The Cracks, The Cracks, That’s How The Light Gets In.
November 11, 2023 By Kohenet Annie Matan Inspired by a Worts and Cunning Intuitive Allies card reading with The Light Seer’s Tarot deck. Especially the 3 of Swords card. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. Golden, molten, tiny threads barely perceptible at first they grow with every bump and jolt. Shaking the vessel multiplies them like thin spider webs spreading out from one pinprick of pain until once-smooth surface is a map of sorrow. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. Broken. I’m broken. Imperfect. Messy. Fragile. Crumbling. Falling. Apart. Into pieces. Irreparably undone. Ruined. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. Before, I was good. I was perfect. I was smooth and unafraid. I rolled along. Well, wobbled, really. More egg-shaped than round. Hard boiled and heavy. Tipping This way or that. Thin shell over solid centre. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. I fell. Or was dropped, Or crushed. And picked and pecked at. I didn’t spill out all over. I didn’t fly apart and disappear. I crunched along with pieces missing. Still solid underneath. Layered. Weighty. Weighed down. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. But I am not an egg. My shell is made of light-woven-skin. I am life force and mud and blood and night. Chava, Adam, Lilith Inside, I am sacred darkness. A comfortable, cozy cave of shadows Light is my shell but dark/night is my soul, my centre. I don’t hide in the dark I am the dark- mystery, deep, black velvet sky, uninterrupted by stars Loamy soil, Rock bottom. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. Nothing can grow here inside this airless, covered pot. Life sleeps and waits. Spreads roots, sweetens with potential. But there’s no green without air and light. My shell, my perfect lid, my hardened skin, my frozen crust keeps me warm and dark and still and ready. But I cannot be born without an opening. I hold my breath, full to bursting with nowhere to go. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. The breaking, oh the breaking Is painful. No matter how gentle, no matter how subtle, No matter how well I’ve steeled myself against it. It comes. A rush of air, a blinding beam of light. It spills into me and I explode into a green, living, breathing, growing, warm, bright, changeable thing. Suddenly there’s (too much) space. Room to exhale. And the exhale feels like breath stolen, emptying me out and I’m afraid it won’t come back and all this light has blasted away my beautiful dark. Leaving me an empty, blank, bright nothing. But the breath whooshes back in And I cry with relief. My newborn body adjusts to a new world of contrast. Light and dark Warm and cool Roots and branches Inhale and exhale Sound and silence Solid and space (so much space!) I’m broken Open. Inside my perfect shell, I was everything. Cracked open, I am both less and more. I feel like I am nothing. I’ve melted. I’ve been erased. I don’t recognize myself. I am a frighteningly alien thing, with new parts that move unbidden, uncontrollable. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. I cry for a long time. For the loss of my whole, dark world where I was tightly, snugly, securely bound. I cry for the loss of my safety, security, reliable stillness I cry because I’m scared and it hurts And my perfect, unseen self is dead. Light is blinding and I squint, naked and trembling, feeling uncomfortably exposed raw vulnerable unsure. The cracks, the cracks, that’s how the light gets in. It’s in me now I am new. I am aware. I am alive. I am a shadow and a beacon, both. Solid and evanescent. I breathe and grow and move and change and ebb and flow. I don’t know how this ends. A heart broken open, relearning how to love. A new beginning. Death and (re)birth in the same breath. Exhale inhale A conduit for spirit. Surrender.
A final note for today, for those who have made it this far:
Teaching:
Dear ones, many of us are grieving as we witness so much pain in the world (and in us, too). There is a Talmudic teaching from Ketubot 17a 9 that is helping me a lot. It says that when a funeral procession and a wedding procession meet at a crossroads, the funeral yields to the wedding. Grief will always come. Remember to make way for joy.
Blessings of gentle light and restful dark on this 4th day of Chanukah,
Annie