Rains come, pounding rooftops, saturating every
inch of soil down to the deep. Water creeps
under floorboards, pours past garage
doors, gushes into low-lying collection basins.
Bridges connecting small country roads turn
impassable, the ones
at the bottom of mountains
near abandoned railroad tracks.
Grief is a sister to flood rain.
Holding hands, they roll over restraining walls.
Together they stream, surge, cascade — out over the land
of the heart, into valleys of the mind, through the dark woods.
Grief is love out of the cage —
overflowing, endless love.
Grief is love realized and released.
Grief is love let free.
She thought she’d handled her move from house to house fairly well, thank you, all things considered.
But today, no.
Human-leaving-the-house-behind-where-they’d-lived-and-loved met up with the mystery of the missing stapler.
It’s possible the human threw a thing or two, then like loose rags, she dropped.
Not about the stapler.
You see, when least expected, a heaven full of sky blue ribbons holding her life together untied themselves. Underneath, thousands of shimmering tethers to her past snapped, spilling light everywhere.
That’s when her heart poured.
She said at last, “I wonder if this is the feel of freedom ….”
Wisdom calls gently to learn in slow motion. Walk wide awake through things you’d rather not feel, find self-compassion, notice beliefs you’ve accumulated, realize what’s actually true.
Wisdom holds the clarity to know that what you resist holds your greatest surprise-teachings. That big rock over to your left appears ominous, but holds secrets that will help you.
Don’t run. Don’t hide.
Take a deep breath and lift the edge of the dark rock long enough to view its underbelly. This seems counterintuitive, yes, but ultimately it’s revealing. Illuminating. Liberating. Enlivening.
Some of your brilliant, bold light is under that rock.
Remember when you were 16 and you believed your physical appearance needed improvement?
Later at 30 or 40, same thing. Something about you was below par. Unperfect. Not acceptable.
You’re older now, with the song of imperfection (still) singing in the background about wrinkles, effects of gravity, weight. Whatever.
Recently you and your sisters thumbed through old photos — and realized how gorgeous you all were then! Dripping with beauty, full of light. Vibrant and bright-hearted. You had no clue!
Here’s the plan. Grab my hand, go with me, let’s fast forward to 92 looking back. How lovely we were — now!
Beautiful one, you rock!
The watercolor painting of a ballet dancer slid elegantly down the wall one night while I was sleeping, offering a poignant point the next morning: “Are your feet dancing, honey, through this change?”
The puffy white comforter secured on a shelf since winter, untouched for months, came tumbling down. I watched it roll. (Freaky, really.) “You’ll land softly.”
The Zen brush painting was “overlooked” during packing wall art. Ah, yes! “Meditate, see things as they are, not as the mind insists.”
Moving advice: Dance confidently forward through your changes! Or pirouette. Or slide down the wall. All of it works.