“Grief is always, in some way, accompanying us . . .Sorrow is a sustained note in the song of being alive. To be human is to know loss in its many forms. This should not be seen as a depressing truth. Acknowledging this reality enables us to find our way into the grace that lies hidden in sorrow.”
— “The Wild Edge of Sorrow“, by Francis Weller.
When it comes to that piece of fresh-baked blackberry pie, I don’t linger on the edge, afraid to move closer to its song of invitation. I’ve been holding the spatula long enough and am not thinking of a slender slice. If my generous slice is more than my share–unless someone is looking at me with a disapproving frown–I tell myself: who am I to suppress appreciation for life’s bounty?
But sorrow? I’ve never been in a hurry to get to the heart of that part of living. I’ve heard that you can’t live with sorrow and loss except by going through it. I think that means not pretending it’s somewhere else, or about someone else, or belongs in some other time than this one.
But such speculations may not really be the issue. I am the one who is missing in action. If those sad feelings, which every human being who has ever lived has felt, have nowhere to land, then they are like exhausted birds circling the nest of my heart. They can’t land if my heart is closed for repairs.
I really would like to introduce my heart to those feeling of sorrow. But our society seems determined to overwhelm us with so many losses that we may not know where to start letting any of them into our inner being.
I have an idea. I’ll just pick one strand of sadness for today. I won’t pick the greatest loss, unless some transformation grabs the tiller of my ship and a gust of what I have learned to turn away from blows into my being. I won’t pick one from the news about all the terrible suffering in foreign countries where ancient hatreds drive the cycle of anger and revenge. I’ll start with the fact that I find it so hard to show up for the people around me and to simply let them feel more at home with their unspoken sorrows; those sorrows that are sounding the sustained note that is always there and will be the last one in our hearts when we take our final breath.
How else will I be able to hear the joyful exuberance made possible through that lasting note, unless I now harken to the gifts of life and love flowing from its depths?