good good grief

Oh crikey the turning of tears for all that’s lost.

Good grief, in this softening

in the morning, when I am quiet

when I breath into the spaces of my body,

forget to resist but instead rest into the comfort of gravity,

before the needs or calls of another,

when I awaken more deeply to the size of the well of grief,

in tender surrender, release into the losses.

//

How much of our time do we resist the full depth of our emotion because it’s not ‘ladylike’ or ‘man enough’? Because it’s uncomfortable. Because it pulls us from the race into another mode . . . might make us live differently, live other than?

There’s a calling to wake up - another kind of alarm. Or are we on the road to no where? Or knowing where . . .

Knowing where we might love deeper despite the reality that everything changes, dies, leaves . . .

Our relationships are shadows of what they could be for fear of utter intimacy…

Our lives are kept small so we have less to lose…

Can we open to death in order to embrace life?

Good grief.

To love that which cannot truly ever be ours - a dancing child, a flower as it fades into autumn, the eagle. Yet we are all of those things. A child stepping into independence, a petal falling to the earth, every circling bird. Our separateness - the fight to be other than is so, so much of our human struggle.

So today I’ll be the rain. I’ll lean into death, into gravity. Let things rise and fall, for they will regardless . . .

The perfect circles that fall in puddles - let the beauty break my heart everyday.

For all the wonder we are and could ever be.

Good good grief.