The more we give from our heart, the bigger it becomes.
Much of our heartache in life comes not from other people but from our expectations of other people and what we feel they should bring into our lives. If our heartaches were truly caused by other people, we would have little power to heal our hurt. Healing would primarily be left to the passage of time and, even then, the big heartaches could easily be reignited. The often unrecognised factors which have brought about our heartache will be based on a myriad of beliefs ranging from reasonable to downright ridiculous. However, this makes no difference at all to the pain we feel because our pain is not coming from our mind but from our heart. It’s no point arguing with the heart. It doesn’t help to talk reason. The heart doesn’t even hear. It doesn’t know that language. It is instinctive – for good and bad. Whereas the mind will try and patiently think through the reasonableness of any situation, the heart is powerless to do so. The heart is all feeling and it flows from a great line of experiences and expectations both remembered and forgotten. Continue reading “Heartache”
Emotional pain is an unavoidable part of life. There is no more certain reminder that we are not in control of our own life. It leaves us standing stunned and grasping for relief. Strangely, we need not run from it and hide. We can meet the wild beast of pain in its own territory, as inadequately prepared as we may feel. Against our natural instinct, we can choose to go to the pain and into it. Our survival mechanism will tell us that such would be certain emotional death. Surprisingly, it is not. Continue reading “The Wild Beast of Pain”
I stood at the back of the funeral room.
Black dress. Black coat.
Not wanting to hear
the tirade of sweet lies.
Did they not know you were already dead?
I think they did.
They walk with the dignity
of a funeral crowd into the tea room.
I can see them chatting
happily through the window.
“What a fantastic guy he was.
Cheese or meat sandwich?”
I sit outside, next to you.
No one can see. No one bothers to look.
Sinking to fresh earth,
I ask you why you did that to yourself.
Why did you cling to that
which fed you a slow poison?
Why did you betray that
which was guard to your soul?
There is no reply.
The words get taken by the chill wind.
You cry in your sleep.
The tears are gone by morning.
The sadness is not this death.
You are not even dead.
You are just over there.
The sadness is the other death.
The death that doesn’t end.
The one that follows behind,
ever-present with its
grey, hollow touch.
Walk a bit further.
There is a different land not far away.
The people in it have the magic
to break the icy fingers of the great death.
I hear you don’t even have to pay.
You do, however, have to find their door.
And it is only found by those
who pay the other price.
From Strange Words – A Book of Poetry
My father died suddenly when I was seventeen. Protective and adoring but totally unspoiling, he was my first great love. I have an image in my mind of sitting alone in the funeral car, waiting for everyone to come out of the little country church and drive to the town’s dusty cemetery whose small number of inhabitants are mostly a list of relatives. Sitting there motionless, I had such a bottomless emptiness inside me that crying seemed irrelevant. Some things are too sad for tears. Continue reading “Those Who Belong To Us”
Grieving is commonly experienced in the wake of all sorts of apparent losses, not just death. Every time we feel we have lost something of value, we tend to grieve. We deny it. We bargain to try to make the loss less painful. We get angry. We get depressed. We, sometimes, get sick. And if all goes well, we eventually accept it. This is the human process. The spiritual process, however, takes on a different dimension. Continue reading “Healing Grief”