Sometimes when we feel lost, even in the most familiar places, we need to begin again at the beginning. Days pass, memories fade or become emblazoned and life simply flows, minute by minute. We change... or not. But if we can be still long enough to take a second look at where the journey started anew, we might find that it's just a matter of refocusing to find clarity. So that's what I decided to do with my adventure in blogging.... revisit the beginning, July 2008.
July 31, 2008
It never ceases to amaze me that we are all so intricately connected even though we don't always have the opportunity to see it.
Last week I saw a rerun of ER. Alan Alda recited a poem and one line touched my heart so deeply that I embarked on a search to find the poem. I thought that they said it was by William Blake but the only key words I could remember were lake and heron and that proved fruitless.
Finally I decided to "google"... William Blake poem on ER... and would you believe that someone else was doing the same search two years ago and there it was, on a small conversation board. I'm sharing it today because I don't want to lose it again and perhaps there is someone else out there making peace with a life that is both precious and unpredictable.
The Peace of Wild Things
— Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
What touched my heart and what I wanted to impress on each of us is ..."the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief."
How much happier we will be when we release our white knuckled grip on the future fears that strangle the life out of this moment. When grief happens, we find the strength... unless we have exhausted today with anticipation of what might be.
Just for today, I will not be afraid. Just for today I will acknowledge how grateful I am for the little things that make my heart light. Just for today I will love the way I am loved and release all regrets and worries and the incessant day planner in my head.
Tomorrow we will start again... together.
July 28, 2008
When life begins to change too quickly, when memories sustain you but life calls, imploring you to rediscover passion and joy, the only course of action seems to be to stand perfectly still. To allow the breeze of change to wash over and through you and just breathe.
I have grieved a seemingly endless grief. Most of the time it has been in silence, in the quiet hours of night, on the way to work, on the porch, in a crowd... at the grocery store facing Chef Boy R Dee.
I'm not completely sure how to move back into the flow of a life that doesn't have Shannon in it in the same familiar ways. I've been moving. For ten years I've done what I thought I should. I've talked as if I knew how to live with sorrow. I haven't given up on me or Shannon or life and I've searched to complete exhaustion for the hidden meaning in losing my only child so soon.
I'm hoping we can discover some of those answers together... and even if we only find that we are here to merely hold on to one another... that's okay too.
In the movie "Medicine Man", the last line is, "Life down here is very strange... but so very precious."
It is so very true.
Funny how we find
When we stop our frantic search
All we ever need