I was reading a friend’s LJ and an entry that had grief in it. I commented and then went to make more tea. I got sidetracked by an adorable little cat (even dog people say she is a great cat) and also stopped to flip through more of the “Soulwork” book I just bought. There is a poem that the author references, or at least a few lines, by David Whyte:
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief
turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breath
will never the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.
I went deep into this well while in Houston. I made it to the bottom, saw the hard mud and stone. I remember thinking how terrible it was to be this deep in the water. I also remember being thankful. I cannot accurately recall the feelings and sensations of being so deep in the well of grief now, it is like an alien world to me, but I still have the emotional knowledge of it, that life is incredibly rich and deep and small setbacks are just that.. small.
A song came on while I was reading this, “Zen Breakfast” by Karunesh. For a while in Eugene this was my daily music while I made coffee and sat at the computer and journaled. Again, another visit back into memory .