Call of the Wild Heart

Call of the Wild Heart

There are few things in life more beautiful than grief.

Grief speaks of loss and sadness- hollows the soul like a glass blower
subtle sand hardened-burned- clear
crushes dreams never meant for birth-
dead on conception

It leaves a deep, dark pit of pain–tilled and torn to readiness walks beside us in the migraine of dawn refusing to leave until we look
“I am your shadow cast on the concrete of your hardness–look and let us cry!”

In what way can this be beautiful?
If we are grieving, letting our bones ache and our hearts break then we’ve loved, maybe long enough
and we’ve felt that thing so rare, like touching the skirt of the moon, compassion for another

Maybe we’ve felt it for ourselves, allowed sorrow to hijack our good thinking
and big plans and sit beside us singing out the many pains, bad breaks and injustices
until we’ve listened deeply enough to know.. know that all we are feeling has been felt before by someone else
that all we are has been someone else, somewhere, some time
that grief is our common language if we have the courage to speak it


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