Those midnight days. As if there is a hole in the roof of our collective church, and the rain is falling down, down through the beams, drops falling free.
And yet, there is Beauty ever-present. Unrepentant. Partout.
She can be garish in comparison, this thing called Spring. And yet how we need her.
We breathe, we "can't breathe", we check our breathing. Upon rising, or at every twinge or cough. Knowing that there are others who are asking elsewhere in great fear escalating. Silently, we say thank you.
It is like a litany, this gratitude. Beads on a rosary, for those of us who are relatively ok. Who do not have to call every hour to check on a loved one's status, who do not have to contend with a lost job, less food, bitter feuds or finances.
Or loss. That felted word, death. Not for me yet, not yet, so thank you.
I beg the tears to fall for release. It is part of the terrain of a too feeling heart and
yet they do not come. I am such in shock. A grieving for all and those who will never be again.
Joan Sutherland, a teacher of the Zen koan tradition recently wrote: "Grief is a form of love, how we go on loving in the absence of the beloved. It is the transformation of love through loss, and how we are initiated into a new world."
If this grief is like a chapel onto itself, stone upon stone and block by block, there must be a light somewhere in our beings, even when whispered as quietly as a prayer. Or so I believe. One gives birth to the other.
We are here, we remain, what will we be?
During the late afternoon's sweet golden hour, or the early morning (it is now 5:30 am), these are the questions that I ask myself. Blinking in the dark, or heart racing.
The response doesn't feel like Hope. Hope is calling something into being and it feels too soon for that yet.
No, but perhaps...I can have a spark of Faith. One not born from any religion. It feels like to refuse that feeling would be disrespectful to all who are fighting so hard in order to move through and beyond a reality that is brutal. Incomprehensible. We must stand by the side of those on the front lines. In a hospital or a home.
So I will hold that light gently. For myself, for my family and our broken but not fallen church of the world. Faith just is, it exists and that feels like freedom.
Despite my falling down (or sitting numbly still), that is an active choice that I can make so that it may grow and go where needed. It will.
I am grateful beyond words for all of the many, many messages, emails and comments on Instagram after my previous post. You are all such incredible people. This community is so strong.
I believe in us.
I believe in us.
PS. I am updating this post to include an article from the NY Times about our universal - and personal grieving during this time of the Corona virus. It is absolutely worth the read, most certainly if you catch yourself in a state of blame...wondering "Why do I feel this way? So much?"...This can help.