Different Way

Different way: 

after my mother died, and my marriage slid closer to divorce, I found myself drawn to the local trails and long hours of running, simply being in motion as a natural means to express a deep grief that would stay still within me. I needed to run. Many friends and family remembers assumed that I was hiding from my grief, deny the present hurt by attempting to out run it, or to keep my mind and body occupied with another hurt altogether. In truth, I was just just mourning in motion, grieving by the miles and on the trail, healing through my love of nature. My body knew just what to do, and if I listen closely, it always seems so, even now as I grieve different way. 

it's not far from a year since my father died, and although my love of being immersed in nature is undiminished, my urge to run those endless miles is gone, I'm no longer drawn to grieve in such a way, my body has grown quieter now. Perhaps it's a matter of age, or losing the last loved one that truly loved me deeply, but my body is holding this grief longer and seemingly to the depth of bones, maybe even further, and intuitively I know that motion isn't the means to heal this grief. Not this time, and at least not in the same way as before. I walk more slowly through nature now, eager to site birds, deer, and the occasional magic of a fox appearing in a brief and stealthy show of grace. My walks aren't long, they're nearby, as I am blessed to have paths right outside my door. It's a different way to grieve than before, exactly what is needed, my body tells me to be easy with this motion, not to rush my length of mourning. 

and so I listen...grieving in a different way.

mostly though, I'm drawn to stillness, silence, earliest morning, and just barely so as night still seems to have a longer hold if time. I think I'm called to this period of transition, sitting quietly as night lingers to the very edge of morning, everything happening so slowly, an experience that really is beyond my measure, not even occurring within my sense of time. 

there are infinite ways to grieve, and the body knows each way, urging a path of resolution to what appears gone and a love that always remains. We all come to our own dawn, different ways, but light always finds us, reaching even now. Listen to the body, being the fabric of memories, holding to the very last touch we received from those parting, we are urged towards grief not as a means of letting go, but of accepting light as it reaches to another dawn. There is no letting go...only what is right now, this moment alone and the magic that it holds. 

this is where we heal.

here, right now. 

grieving in whatever way we know. 

~

Love, Eric