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| Lotus flower buds |
"Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things and feel the future dissolve in a moment…" Naomi Shihab Nye
As I read the lines to this poem, the words struck a deep chord of the kinship I'm feeling with sorrow and kindness. One early winter morning I recited the entire poem (see below), our Christmas tree spare and simple, modest and humble, warmed the room with it's soft and festive luminance. The raw and naked truth rang true:
Everyone and everything I love, I will lose.
Everyone and everything I love, I will lose.
Nothing is permanent. Things are always changing, right?
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| San Juan Island apples-Skoog Family |
... but we always think, believe... there's more time. As a hospice volunteer, I understand. Lying next to my dad ten years ago in his hospice bed, I understand. Dad would have relished having one more day. On one of his last days, he made a great effort to walk into the garden and teach me how to graft fruit trees, wanting to transmit more of his knowledge, more of himself. Yet, the way to grasp the tender and naked truth for me is to value our moments together, to bring a sense of the sacred, to savor the in-between moments.
So, I can choose to silence my devices and remember I don't need to fill space in-between work, obligations, and feed my habit patterns. The space around and between life, negative space, is what alights my gaze to fully imbibe the sunset in the winter sky, to appreciate the vast openness of the desert sky in Baja. To me, they symbolize freedom, peace, equanimity.
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| Sunset from Leucadia with the Norman Family 2015 |
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| View from the car en route to Baja Sur 2016 |
I can choose to be aware and grateful to witness another sunrise when I open my eyes to the magic of a brand new day.
I can choose to begin to feel more hopeful, supported, and inspired by the kindness of community, my community.
I feel a deeper well of love and connection growing out of the sad shock of losing kindhearted, vibrant, and sensitive Emylee way-too-soon.
I am happy and heartened to have stumbled upon the writings of Frances Weller, a psychologist and author. His honest reflection of how we live with unresolved grief and sorrow captivated me. I suggest checking out his book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow and interview in The Sun Magazine, entitled: The Geography of Sorrow (http://thesunmagazine.org/issues/478/the_geography_of_sorrow)
Some things that resonate:
How creating a container and ritual can bring about an opportunity to heal for you and your community.
How we have much to learn and offer by sitting with sorrow and giving ourselves time and loving attention.
He seems to extend an outstretched hand through pathways that “lead us to understand the many ways loss touches our hearts and souls in this life.”
Finally, he poses a contemplative question; “What if we,
instead of avoiding grief, took the energy to be more joyful and understand we
can’t avoid losses, wounds and failures?” If we meet them with “compassion,
kindness, affection,” we can have a deeper understanding and become grateful
for our connection with loved ones. The message is clear, thoughtful
and very beautiful.
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| Sunrise on the Ganges 2015 |
I find solace as I allow myself to live with loss of love. Little is gained by pushing feelings away to "get over it." I'm prepared to let grief be my companion for now. In my tradition, we practice touching the earth-a ritual connecting me to my ancestors and teachers. It's comforting to return to the earth, to mark a sacred moment, a passing, a transition with gratitude and reverence. And to honor the earth, sky, water, all elements, that make my life possible. What if we met grief with "kindness, compassion, and affection" and it supported us "like a shadow or a friend"?
I understand there is healing when I can speak and listen from my heart.
Nothing to fix, nothing to do, no advice to give.
Just a touching gesture-to be here together hearts interconnected-standing on sacred ground, with kindness.
Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever. Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive. Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say it is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you every where like a shadow or a friend.
by Naomi Shihab Nye
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