The Well of Grief - Poem and Image by David Whyte
Dedicated to all those who are grieving today, whether due to natural disaster, unprecented flooding, loss of a loved one, violence, unexpected accident, or despair over our culture or our changing climate. THE WELL OF GRIEF Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief, turning down through its black water to the place we cannot breathe, will never know the source from which we drink, the secret water, cold and clear, nor find in the darkness glimmering, the small…
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In response to Bonnie's Email, this poem/thoughts present themselves -
The Places In-Between
Place
The where I am
And am not
Out of place
Place and no-place
One and the same
Tragedies occurring
Outside ourselves
Yet affecting us
Feeling it, feeling them
It feeling us
Touching us
As we respond
Feeling of feeling
Pulsing
Oscillating
With Affinity
Always relational
Providing our own
Affect in return
In response
To the stimulus
That triggered the
Process that we are
Always a part of
A process that
Influences us
As we influence it
Wonderful Alan,
I especially resonate with the line "we sing silently ourselves into being." I will use this as my chant during my morning meditation. Thanks.
Ed
I'd like to invite all to read something I penned sitting silently admidst a sea of shimmering ants in my Sacred Circle on the "wilderness" part of my MROP (2007) experience (while watching an orb spider climbing and lowering itself on a single strand of thread in front of me):
Like dreamtime, a shiver as I recall the connections.
Embodied in soul, dancing, nourishing, evolving,
spinning & growing.
The spider, power in her potency
arrives to hold our projections, as we lower ourselves
into what matters. From the heart, a thread unfolds,
moving to the rhythm, the beauty, the caress.
Gathering the longings, rejected parts, losses and
laughter we sing silently ourselves into being.
Men, in harmony and reverence, touching the wounds
and allowing the re-membering to bring us home.
Ruth,
Can't wait to learn from you. I had volunteered to learn mask making from a dying tribe in western Canada but the curator of the related museum stated that the last mask maker, with the agreement of the few tribe members still left, had decided his skills would die with the tribe. I look forward to seeing the pictures. First question, do you have a camera that can download pictures to your computer?
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