What I lost cannot be returned and the grief of that took years to heal.
It took years to unravel the story and to count the cost.
What I lost was the place I called home, refuge, where I could hide form the world and rest or walk naked out of the shower.
A place to invite the world in when I wanted it—to dinner or discussion.
What I lost began as a death and then slowly everything slid away. The tremors kept coming until it felt like I was walking in ashes. But slowly, very slowly, everything arose out of that ash. I lost my home and found new places to grow and flourish. I lost my support groups and became part of something larger, lost my son and inherited classrooms of children. I lost my job and was gifted with a monthly check so I could focus on my creativity. I lost language and found my voice at last—I lost my way and now I am walking toward my inner light.
What gives me courage is that stubborn instinct of wanting to know why?
Solve the mystery
Dance in the rain and walk in a rose garden
Sit quietly by a window and watch the breeze ruffle the leaves
Moonlight shimmering on the sea, sand between my toes, the feel of someone’s arm around my shoulder
The laughter of children
Knowing that love is not a Band-Aid but more like the hammock we swing in
Or a song that is echoed amongst the spheres
The belief in meaning, that it has purpose, that I have purpose
Because of those who are hurt and hungry, the forgotten the small, the invisible, the fragile, those on the edge
Knowing I am not alone
Knowing the worst has already happened and I am still standing
The smell of freedom and the bittersweet taste of the past
A fierce love of adventures
The fire in my soul and a thirst for connection
The memories of when I was frightened and did it anyway
The sound of my wings unfurling
The lantern in the night and the lighthouse across the shore
The determination to make a difference
Gratitude that I can
Compassionate benign neglect
The way my life has led me here and the hope that joy will wing me to the places I dream of
Prayer and surrender
Finding the blessing is finding your compass pointing towards true north after being lost in a dark wood.
Finding the blessing is to remember the good times and the bad and hold them all at once in your crackled, aching, hungry heart. We always want more—one more kiss good-bye, one more message, one more joke, one more quiet hour sitting by the fire, one more day of sunshine, one more slow dance in our beloved’s arms. But finding the blessing is to know this, too, shall pass. There is no end—just a form of distance and the hope of reunion.
Finding the blessing is to create life out of whatever materials you were handed—lemonade out of lemons, they say, and if you are determined, margaritas as well. Or a tapestry out of broken threads that could be stitched into a beautiful garment. Or perhaps it is the way you have finally found home while sitting in a room full of strangers You don’t know it yet but someday you will and for the time being, all that matters is the quiet within.
Finding the blessing is a daily practice—on the crowded bus, standing in line at the grocery store, listening to a friend’s problems on the phone, watching your father turn in to a strange crazy person, turning on the computer to find it has crashed and you only just paid it off. You say “Namaste”, you say “Start again”, you say why not and good grief and hooray.