To many people, the world of
Grief seems like a big void, a large, empty cavern of audacious terror that one wants
to flee, a place filled with utterly depressing chaos and rampaging emotions. It
is.
But it also has long periods
of silence after the first onslaught of grief calms. To those who grieve, the journey
is like living in a monastery. So much has been taken away that life feels
pared back to stone walls. Except for occasional rantings in the middle of the
night, it’s quiet the rest of the time. We’re always slightly cold, and the
food we eat, while nutritious, is nothing to write home about.
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
*
My related posts:
The Dark Station http://widowersgrief.blogspot.com/2014/07/darkness-and-still.html
Dark World Community http://widowersgrief.blogspot.com/2015/09/dark-world-community.html
Wonderful--and so true. In my dreams I knew I would live in a monastic cell in the Green Man's house for a year. In life, it was more like two years. I just shared this on my FB page. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteBesides some time in an actual monastery, I was also a hermit in Yosemite's wilderness. Two years. Yes. I wish I had known you then.
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