FROM ARTIST, VICTORIA BOLDUC

In addition to this being my first PAX event, my first time back in a church in three years, it was also my first experience of a silent retreat. And you know what? I loved it.

I am naturally drawn to reflective experiences, but prefer filling my soundscape with music – often with a playlist called, “Jazz for Autumn” on Spotify. I find music generally helps me focus and facilitates deeper feeling and clearer expression. However, I came to Saturday morning’s retreat welcoming the quiet atmosphere of the church vestry, void of any melody aside from creaky, cautious footsteps on the old church planks from fellow participants.

In her opening, Andrea shared an image by artist Scott Erickson – Scott the Painter on Instagram – of a flourishing tree growing up and out of a unlidded coffin. This was a welcome reminder of possibilities. A welcome image of life growing up and out of dead places in our lives. A welcome image of what has passed, transforming into a holding space for what is coming. Like many of us, I sometimes find the task of being a human…overwhelming. To be here in this world and live in these bodies can feel like so much. Arriving at A Day Apart very much in the overwhelm of being human, I stayed open to the holding. The holding of a building so often filled with people seeking to be held, the holding of community, and the holding of the Creator.

In my time apart, nestled into a cozy couch with a pillow at my back and a pillow on my lap, feet tucked underneath me, and boots left on the floor, I allowed myself to be held in the quiet. I allowed tears to trickle down my cheeks and words to flow out of my pen as I acknowledged the weight of what is currently true in my life and in the world. I found guidance in the Day Apart centering prayers, offering palms up as a symbol of releasing the worries and weight when ready. And I found myself repeating the words of Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,” both in a breathy-whisper and in writing. Did parents or teachers ever have you write the same sentence over and over to help solidify a point? I found myself copying, “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,” throughout the day.

It can be a tricky thing, to allow oneself to be held. To allow for softening where there has been hardness, to allow for tenderness where we have built up protective barriers to keep us going. The vulnerability in allowing a community to hold you, in allowing God to hold you, is no small thing. Sometimes we don’t even realize we have shored ourselves up until we are invited into the soft quiet spaces of retreat, and provided with guidance on how to lay it all down, look it over, and leave behind what needs to be left behind. It can be a vulnerable thing to believe the Creator will continue to meet us in our overwhelm with kindness and care, offering to hold what feels too heavy to continue carrying ourselves.

As the retreat came to a close and I found myself in a room full of women sharing their insights and vulnerabilities from the day, I was reminded of the gift of being held together. Being held together by the Creator, being held together by the hearts of the community around us, being held together by the natural world reflecting the cycles we experience as humans of letting go, laying dormant, springing forth, and flourishing.

We are offered invitations to be held in many forms, and what a gift to ourselves and to others when we open up to the vulnerability and promise of presence found in saying yes to the holding.

Looking for a way to step into soul care this year? Our cohort programs can be a beautiful way to grow & lean in. Check out our upcoming program page & see what feels right for you!