Who am I to speak of grief
when there are those who’ve
had to place the soft bodies of small children in
the cold, bare ground?
Who am I to talk of sadness when
there are those whose
homes, bodies, lives have been torn apart by war?
Whole families, and neighborhoods,
bombed, murdered and burned.
Who am I to speak of mourning
when there are those who’ve lived as the last of their kind?
Hollow and aching,
a world that no longer exists,
Ishi, Martha, the buffalo,
Who am I to grieve for what we’ve lost,
and what we’re losing,
for the suffering
wrapped around us like a dark, black cocoon?
Many carry grief much heavier than mine.
But then, isn’t grief something
we were meant to share?
A connection between open hearts allowing us
to carry the weight together?
I was afraid that letting the sadness in would
force me to fence off my heart,
seal it behind walls made of mortar and brick just to make it through the day.
But the opposite is true.
Each time we allow ourselves to feel the sadness
of the sweet souls around us
it makes us softer,
filled with empathy and caring
so the edges blur until we can no longer tell where we stop
and the others begin.
And that deep connection
brings the clearest joy
like the crystal notes of the
thrush, brushing the blue sky
in the highest tree.
Let us not shy away from each others’ sorrows.
let us carry them gently
in softly cupped hands
and hold them
in the strong arms of tight hugs
and warm embraces.
Your sadness is my sadness.
Your joy is my joy.
Please share with me
so that we might
walk this road
Thank you for listening,