two autumns

October 30th, 2016 · 1 comment · permalink

(two autumns like a bookend, a series of mirrors, of months that gnashed their teeth into my hair and my hands and my heart and left holes on the other side; autumn like a darkened ruin; autumn like a spell.

i have been holding the whole of this thing in these hopeful bones, that this year might find my way back to a careful grace. a worn stretch of road. a familiar moon.

give me that quiet home again; give me that protecting shelter. give me everyone safe and two strong hands to cup my tired bird heart to rest. give me a tender prayer in the shape of a solid lover, give me those holy rooms. give me the veil and the song and the ritual. give me those soft sacred spaces, a warmth to curl up in. an ending to come home to.)

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December 14th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

The last thing I said to him was I love you. I miss you. And I feel so so profoundly grateful for that, every day, and I say it still, every day. I love you, I love you, I love you. I miss you.

Brimming with longing.
Brimming with love.

“You’re not selfish, you’re grieving.”

December 7th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

Literally moments after I stood in my bathroom readying for bed – rinsing honey from my face and plaiting my hair and thinking, heavily, how, grief has made me selfish, how it has kept me from responding to every gracious hand that has reached out to me in the last several weeks – I slinked into bed and was greeted with this message, in this night’s chosen book.

(“Grief has made me selfish,” I thought.)

“You’re not selfish, you’re grieving.”

You’re not selfish. You’re grieving.

And my heart, my heart, I thought. The Universe always provides.

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With much love and tender gratitude to each and every one of you who has taken the time to tell me your stories and offered concern, again and again. I have been an awful friend these weeks, an awful do’er of normal things, an awful human with a no longer intact family. But every effort, every kindness, is taken and kept and folded and unfolded and looked at over & over again with great love and relief and great gratitude. I have felt so cared for. Protected. Tended. And I remember where it’s warm. I always remember where it’s warm.

Thank you, endlessly, friends. Thank you thank you thank you, and a thousand times, thank you.

10.25.15

October 25th, 2015 · 0 comments · permalink

“Even as I rocked on my knees, howling, I detected soft breathing behind the roaring. I leaned in, listened. It was the murmuring of ten million mothers, backward and forward in time and right now, who had lost children. They were lifting me, holding me. They had woven a net of their broken hearts, and they were keeping me safe there. I realized that one day I would take my rightful place as a link in this web, and I would hold my sister-mothers when their children died. For now my only task was to grieve and be cradled in their love.” – CARAVAN OF NO DESPAIR

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