“Everything is going to be okay, my
girl. I know that everything will work out for you. Be brave, be strong. Don’t
listen to anyone – make your own decisions and take responsibility for them.
Nothing stands in your way – only you. Remember that. Remember that always.”
― Under
“Tempora Mutantur” (Latin) speaks to how time passes and the changes that is wrought. We have all had to go through changes, many of the changes, we are asked to make… ok, forced to make… comes about through loss of some kind. Those forced changes leave us bent to our knees asking why, what is the reason, and why life can be so danged hard? We are called to accept a new reality for ourselves. It calls for absolute surrender rather than wish things could be the way they were. It cannot ever be what it was. We are left with broken parts of our life, bankrupt of feelings, and, sometimes, in what we would say was the worst emotional pain we have ever felt. We are learning that there can not be great sorrow without great love nor great love without great sorrow.
We weep. We must weep. Although we are, somehow, trained or conditioned not to cry, we have to cry sweet tears of release and cleansing. While we are conditioned to think of there being something wrong with crying, it is a proven fact that it is necessary to grieve in such a way. Crying is about something being right. If we do not fully express our sorrow, if we remain numb, it makes us numb to the teachings, the joy that comes in balance. We clench up our heart, our breathing, every fibre of our being to simply get through it when what is required of us is to change, to open our hearts to the sorrow and to breathe through it like a mother giving birth must breathe through that pain. After the grief, and time does not need to be exp[licit as we all have our own time to grieve, there is a peace that begins to settle and take root. And we are made new: Changed, but new as grief changes us forever.
And, we are touched in the heart by the fingers of grief that leaves a wound that eventually loses its sharp edges. Being human means to lose, I have discovered. Being human also means there is much to bring us joy in that small things succor us and we become more grateful, perhaps.
©Carol Desjarlais 2.5.24
No comments:
Post a Comment