Dancing with Grief.
Wave after wave encompassed me,
alone and heading nowhere,
key in the ignition,
autopilot activated — I arrived to the river.
Sitting there, numb.
I watch for what feels like eternity - frozen.
Couples, children, families, dogs, moved playfully through space, and I couldn’t bare to be one of them.
Dusk began to crawl out from the shadows welcoming my own darkness from the steel box where I waited, pulling me me into open air.
River Murmured,
Water churned in the shallows,
shoes waiting on the bank, autumns chill sharpens my awareness.
She whispered to me - you can cry.
Weeping I stood knee deep in grief. She took each tear with grace carrying me away.
Wave after wave encompassed me,
as my body emptied itself of all that was pain.
Movement returned first to the tips of my fingers, into my arms - floating up - ready to hold my frame. Knee lifts and pointed toe drags across the surface.
Energy bores down into bedrock.
I am no longer carried away, loss of my own creation,
rooted. Tethered to the deepest parts of earth.
Safe in the darkness, hidden from human eyes,
a measured movement continued. Deliberate and gradual. Direction.
Greif mingles with love — death hangs in between. The great dichotomy of life.
In the silence I danced with grief until I could see just ahead of me. To my next step. Trusting I would feel the next after that.
This painting and poem now live in their original copies with a dear friend.
Written months after a friend died of suicide, I reflect upon how the natural world holds us in ways that no human hands can. I feel a little disheartened that I only have the quality of image pictured here. Yet there is something poetic that the drawings of grief that were so precise and razor sharp - soften and pixilate in time.
My heart is cold and my face a statue. Body moving in stiff tension - until the relief of release arrives.
I often feel anxious about the sounds I create. I have difficulty giving myself permission to cry fully and deeply — for the fear that someone should hear or see me in the act. I also have a hard time giving myself permission to sing in joy, for the fear that someone should hear or see me in the act.
Yet in moments of great tragedy, there are no damns that can be constructed inside ourselves that are strong enough to hold it back. Thank goodness for the water for holding all that we are as humans. Washing us clean and carrying away our doubts and sadness. Bringing to us surefootedness and trust that finding the next step on the slippery rock is enough.
I am grateful for you River. Thank you.