Blessings, Good pesach, Happy Easter
and……
During these holy days of spring—Easter and Passover—when the world celebrates rebirth and liberation,
many find themselves in a paradoxical place: surrounded by joy, yet dwelling in their own private darkness.
The contrast can make loneliness and grief feel even more acute.
Perhaps you are feeling the ache of what is no more, and afraid that if you go into the dark woods
and let the shadows work on and through you, you may never find your way back to the light.
But what if I told you this darkness is not just necessary—it’s profoundly sacred?
The Wisdom of Sacred Darkness
In Easter’s story, Christ doesn’t immediately rise.
First comes the tomb—three days of profound darkness and stillness.
In this sacred pause, transformation occurs beyond our understanding.
In Passover’s narrative, freedom doesn’t arrive in an instant.
The Israelites first endure darkness—the night of the final plague,
the uncertain crossing of the Sea, the wilderness wandering.
Liberation requires passage through the unknown.
These ancient stories whisper a profound truth:
Darkness is not punishment. It’s preparation.
Every tradition honors this truth.
The seed must rest in dark soil before it can sprout.
The butterfly dissolves completely in the chrysalis before emerging.
The moon must wane to darkness before it can wax again.
Your grief, your loneliness, your feeling of being lost—these are not signs that you’ve failed.
They’re evidence that you’re in a sacred transformation.
The Neuroscience of Necessary Darkness
What the ancients understood intuitively, modern science now confirms.
When we experience loss or significant change, our brains
and bodies undergo their own process of death and rebirth:
- Neural pathways that once defined our reality begin to dissolve
- Our sense of identity undergoes necessary fragmentation
- New neural connections form, literally rebuilding who we are
This isn’t just poetic metaphor—it’s biology.
We are designed for these cycles of ending and beginning.
Francis Weller calls it the long dark—the space between what was and what is yet to come.
Think of the forest after fire. What seems destroyed and dead becomes the compost for new life.
Think of a seed, pressing against its husk underground. Not buried.
Germinating. On Holy ground.
We are the same.
In grief, when we stop running and allow ourselves to be with what is, something alchemical happens:
- The old identities begin to dissolve
- Our nervous systems reorganize
- We integrate what was once fragmented
We begin to remember who we really are beneath the roles we had to play to survive.
A Sacred Relationship with the Dark
Most of us have been taught to fear the dark. To rush the resurrection. To bypass the tomb.
But the body does not heal on command. The nervous system does not unwind through force.
It heals through rhythm, presence, and safety.
And that’s why grief cannot be moved and metabolised alone.
Grief needs to be witness.
We need eyes on us to meet what feels unbearable.
This is the work I do. Not to fix. Not to force.
But to hold you in the fertile soil of the unknown, until your body remembers it is safe to soften.
A Ritual for the Long Dark
When you’re in it, here’s a simple practice to remind your nervous system that it is safe, even here:
1. Find your ground: Sit comfortably and place one hand on your heart, the other on your belly.
Feel your breath moving beneath your palms.
Whisper: “I am held, even here.
2. “Honor what was: Cup your hands together as if holding something precious.
Into this space, speak the name of what you’ve lost or what has changed.
Thank it for what it gave you. Then slowly open your hands, releasing it with gratitude.
3. Welcome what will be: With empty, open palms facing upward on your lap,
sit in the discomfort of not knowing what comes next.
Breathe into this empty space, trusting that emptiness is not the end—it’s the beginning of receiving.
Three Neuroscience-Backed Practices for the Journey
1. Rhythmic Movement: Our nervous systems regulate through rhythm.
Walking, gentle swaying, or even drumming creates bilateral stimulation that helps process grief.
Try a daily 20-minute rhythmic walk where you deliberately feel your feet connecting with the earth
—left, right, left, right—while breathing deeply.
2. Cold Exposure: Brief cold exposure (30-90 seconds) activates the vagus nerve,
which reduces anxiety and improves emotional regulation.
End your shower with cold water while breathing slowly through your nose,
or place your face in cold water for 30 seconds.
3. Witnessed Expression: Research shows that grief held alone becomes trauma,
while grief that’s witnessed becomes transformation.
Share your experience with someone who can simply hold space—not to fix or advise,
but to witness.
If no one is available, write a letter expressing your feelings,
then read it aloud to yourself with compassion.
You Are Not Alone in the Dark
Remember that in nature, no transformation happens in isolation.
Seeds are held by soil. Caterpillars spin protective cocoons.
Even stars are born within nurturing nebulae.
You too deserve to be held during this time.
The darkness you’re experiencing isn’t evidence of something wrong.
It’s evidence of something profound happening within you
—something that requires the sacred darkness to complete its work.
You are not buried, dear one.
You are germinating. And I am here, holding space for all that you are becoming.
With deep care and faith in your unfolding
Solara (Sarah-Jane)
PS: The Promise of What Awaits
You are not failing. You are not lost. You are not buried.
You are germinating.
This darkness is not consuming you. It is creating you.
Let the sacred pause do its work.
Let the long dark hold you.
Let yourself be witnessed in your becoming.
Let me be the certainty for you.
I’m here to listen with a compassion and a fierce open heart to meet you exactly where you’re at.
You are not alone.
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