The River of Grief

“The river of grief is the heart of the ocean that continues to surge after the ocean is gone.”                                              - Mark Liebenow

The Braided River

“Rivulets of love run through the canyons of my heart, 

along with streams of grief.

They intertwine and flow together with the hours 

            through thunderstorms and warm days,

            under full moons and new,

and nourish the green meadows.

Nature’s River of Life flows down through the solitude

of ancient mountains, 

with tributaries that join in from the sides

that bear compassion, humility, hope. 

The creeks and streams are braided into One River

and flow to others when they are needed.

There are many streams but one river.”

 

                                                Mark Liebenow

 

Earth Day, April 22—the legacy of Senator Gaylord Nelson of Wisconsin.

River Dawn

 

"Water breaks rock down, becomes tree. Grief breaks life down, becomes river."

Mark Liebenow

Love is a River

Love is a river. It doesn’t exist when it’s not flowing. 

When grief comes, love moves from being a noun to being a verb.

Love is the awareness of being.

When the Spirit Opens

“I don’t know when the spirit opens itself to the river.” Kathleen Dean Moore

            I wondered about this movement of the spirit when I sat by Evelyn’s bed in the ICU years ago. Was she still present, or had she departed and now existed somewhere else? Neurological tests done yesterday indicated no activity in her brain. The doctors said the machines were keeping her body alive until they could repeat the tests 24 hours later. 

Grief's River

Grief’s river carries us

from death back to life.

Talking with others

is the water.

Mark Liebenow

My essay on "Men and Grief For Their Fathers" was published by The Good Men Project: http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/men-and-the-death-of-their-fathers-s2h/

We Are Rivers in Spring

Signs of recovery, or are we just thawing?

When we are stuck smack dap in the midst of grief’s armpit, it’s hard to tell if we’re making any progress or if we’re slowly slipping back into the yak morass. There is so much movement backward, spinning in circles, and being yanked off on detours that we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. The parade of Life is passing us by and we’re waiting for an unscheduled bus to appear and pick us up.

* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *

     *
One Breath Out, my essay on grief, breathing, Pema Chodron, and Tonglen meditation has been published by The Manifest Station.

 http://themanifeststation.net/2015/05/17/one-breath-out/