Day 178: The half way mark of The Year

Day 178

photo by Wilson Alvarez

photo by Wilson Alvarez

Be patient.

They say.

Time heals all wounds.

It will get easier.

And sometimes they’re right.

Sometimes, when we lose someone, it does get easier. Sometimes, as the minutes, and hours, and days tick by,

the heart heals.

The pain dulls, and in its’ place,

memories remain.

Sweet, and sad, and true.

Death, at least in some way, is finite.

It happens,

and then the living,

keep living.

And the space grows, from the moment of loss onward,

and lends it’s unique perspective,

so the living can heal,

and move forward,

and move on.

I started this project

so I could grieve.

So I could finally stop ignoring the sadness weighing heavy in my heart,

constricting my airways,

casting shadows where there should be only sun.

I thought I would be able to choose my grief each day, like picking an outfit for the day or doing my hair.

I thought I could give it my attention and turn away.

Move onto the next sorrow,

gain clarity,

align myself with other’s who are fighting and

figure out where, and how,

to fight


But now, looking back,

I was so naive.

The water is poisoned, the air is toxic, the soil is contaminated. Many people are suffering. The land and animals are suffering. Corporations run our government and the world. They are not alive. They do not protect the interests of things that are alive.

And guess what?

This kind of grief does not go away.

This kind of loss is endless,

cruel in it’s generosity,


and incomprehensible.

Living in the world right now is like building your home on quicksand.

You keep trying to arrange the furniture, make dinner, put the kids to bed, make love,

and all the while,

bits are falling away beneath your feet,

the very foundation keeps melting and shifting so

it is impossible to know where you stand, or figure out how to fix the problems, or reinforce the foundation.

And some days it feels like,

what’s the point of even building a house,

when the world is crumbling beneath your feet?

I set out

to set this grief free

to unleash it from where it hides in the dark

and transform it into action, positivity

and good.

I wanted to be cleansed.

But now?

A burning heat remains.

A fire in my belly, a dryness in my throat,

an itching in the palms of my hands.

There is so much loss.

Never ending universes of loss, and death, and extinction and murder.

And sadness.

And now I’m just so fucking mad.

Because you know what happens when you give your attention?

Spend moments and days,

watching, and studying, and thinking about, and talking too, and crying over, and mourning?

You fall in love.

Harder and more intensely than you ever have before.

The gray of your sadness contrasts against the brilliant colors of the Monarchs, and the honeybees, and the gorillas, and the rhinos, and the elephants, and the passenger pigeons, and the bison, and the wolves, and the frogs, and the snakes, and the lizards, and the birds,

and even the people.

This world is beautiful. This earth is a gift. There are a million miracles right beneath our feet.

And I can feel myself gathering up,


and getting ready,

for actions,

that will match

this brilliant burning passion

I have in my heart.

So no, this grief never ends.

You can’t mourn the loss of all our fresh water

and move on.

You can’t mourn the loss of the fish, and air, and soil, and the oceans

and move on.

You can’t mourn the systematic genocide of our planet

and get over it.

And why would you want to anyways?


we need to hold it.

The grief, and the sadness,

the anger, the fear.

And when it wells up,

let it pour out,

in sobs and wails,

in screams and shouts.

It is insane to go on living normal lives

as the world burns down around us.

Hold the grief, and the sadness and the fear,


with both hands

and don’t let go.

It won’t pull you under.

It will lift you up,


higher than you’ve ever imagined,

so when you look down

you’ll see all earth’s creatures

far below.

And you’ll love them with a burning love you’ve never felt before.

And you’ll fight for them,

because they are you

and you are them,

and we are here together.

This is Day 178

The half way mark of The Year.

This grief does not go away.

It only grows.

But I am not afraid anymore.

My boy Revel is 18 months old today.

The world I have to give him is broken.

We can’t mourn the systematic genocide of our planet and get over it.

But we can fight it.

Or die trying.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for listening.

I Love You,


photo by Michelle Johnsen

photo by Michelle Johnsen


2 responses to “Day 178: The half way mark of The Year

  1. Great Spirit help us to transform our grief into hope and action. Divine Goddess give birth to a “new” way of human BEING.

    A ho.

  2. Yes, love. I feel paralyzed and stuck by the grief these days.
    I want to write, but can’t make the space right now.
    A death, another cancer diagnosis, another death, and another, and another… It all feels like too much. And it never ends.
    Our pain, your pain, is of the world of the living. While we live, we ache.
    Let us not stop.
    All together now:

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