Sitting on a Dark Mountain

When grief comes, it pulls a blanket of darkness over our world. We enter a void of everything we’ve ever known and loved.

When my wife Evelyn died, I went to Yosemite and sat in the darkness of Glacier Point between the solitary lights of the constellations above and the campfires of happy people a mile below. The life I had known had abruptly ended, and I found myself in a place where there even the stars seemed unfamiliar. I tried not to think about the bears and mountain lions moving in the forest behind me.

I existed in this place between the living and the dead for months, and eventually realized that I would have to create a new world to live in, or continue to drift in meaningless space. It was in the darkness that I found I could fend off despair, confront the loneliness, and start to undo the trauma of Ev’s death. It was here, away from all distractions, that I sorted through the chaos and understood what I needed to do. Even though I didn’t like being here, this was where I was, and where I had to begin. 

The darkness forces us to search for the glimmer of light that still burns in the rubble of our hearts.

Our impulse is to turn away from death and the darkness it brings. The only way to deal with grief is to enter the darkness, embrace the pain, and go through. If we are brave, our hearts open to what is greater.

Grief is one of life’s key experiences, and has much to teach us about ourselves and others. Besides compassion, the only other valuable thing we have to share with others are our stories—of our struggles, hopes, dreams, and triumphs. May we all live interesting lives.

Darkness is where light is rooted.

It’s not easy to dwell in the darkness. It takes courage to be attentive to grief. It takes enormous strength to face your anger, fear, and despair. Yet it’s better to sit in the quiet for a time and work our way through, than settle for the easy answers from well-meaning friends that dissipate after a few hours, and which leave us feeling even more alone. Pain tells us where we are broken, and where we could use the help of others.




Although we may feel abandoned and alone, the darkness is where artists often choose to live because here there are no boundaries and no limitations on what is possible. Here they create what is new from the primary elements of the universe.

As we work with our grief, as we express our feelings and thoughts in words, music, and images, we become artists of grief, and we learn that we're not alone.

For months the darkness of Glacier Point lived in my heart. But the wonder of nature and the presence of new friends wouldn’t let me give up. The lights of the stars and the slow, twirling dance of the constellations kept me company, and told me that even grief would have its seasons. 

And one day the sun that lived in those mountains, rose. 

(A shorter version of this was published in Mindful Matter.)