Your describing how you are - the rich stew of feelings that evades being adequately captured by words - is poignant, George. The depth you’ve descended into that stew and report back, here, with these very words that can’t possibly do it justice… it’s humbling. Thank you for continuing to share the journey.
This is jaw-droppingly beautiful, George. You’re setting an inspired example for what it looks like to descend into this terrain of polar opposites, where you grapple and rend and reassemble and despair and find grace and heartbreak and confusion and love… especially the love. ❤️💔
The simultaneity of it all reminds me of the way Meister Eckhart described a glimpse of awakening — bewilderingly groundless, without separation.
And it’s true we are here as your supports, but we’re all just watching in awe.
Glad I could bring some laughter to your day Sarah. It really was quite the anticlimax…
Thank you for sharing the impact the words had on you. You’re right; there is feeling. Difficult though it may be.
Pain and suffering is unique, I think, not general. And as Imogen so often told me and reminded herself, her journey was hers alone - just as yours is.
I don’t know if there is any comfort in that; but I think it helped her as it does me now.
❤️
Your describing how you are - the rich stew of feelings that evades being adequately captured by words - is poignant, George. The depth you’ve descended into that stew and report back, here, with these very words that can’t possibly do it justice… it’s humbling. Thank you for continuing to share the journey.
It hadn’t occurred to me until I just read your comment Derek but the image and idea of descending into something
a hole
deep water
earth
sand
something sometimes malleable
sometimes restrictive
claustrophobic
or cleansing
the sense of wanting to go deeper and yet simultaneously to urgently retreat
all whilst reporting back to the surface
to somehow render in words the depth and the darkness
is exactly what this feels like.
And it’s only knowing that I have you
and so many others on the other end of the line
ready to haul me out if I give the signal
that allows me to dive on without drowning.
So thank you for sharing that idea.
It’s encouraging.
I recently bumped into this poem from David Whyte, which reminded me of our exchange.
The Well of Grief
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,
will never know 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.
Thank you for sharing this Derek. Funnily enough his poetry has made its way into my life in other places. This resonates.
I’ll keep turning down. X
This is jaw-droppingly beautiful, George. You’re setting an inspired example for what it looks like to descend into this terrain of polar opposites, where you grapple and rend and reassemble and despair and find grace and heartbreak and confusion and love… especially the love. ❤️💔
The simultaneity of it all reminds me of the way Meister Eckhart described a glimpse of awakening — bewilderingly groundless, without separation.
And it’s true we are here as your supports, but we’re all just watching in awe.
I laughed out loud. Literally. About the pigeon.
I feel relief reading these word and acknowledge that you aren't feeling it. But I see that you're feeling. That's where the relief is.
The piece about it happening all the time not making it any easier totally resonates. It's been a thought I've had lately.
Glad I could bring some laughter to your day Sarah. It really was quite the anticlimax…
Thank you for sharing the impact the words had on you. You’re right; there is feeling. Difficult though it may be.
Pain and suffering is unique, I think, not general. And as Imogen so often told me and reminded herself, her journey was hers alone - just as yours is.
I don’t know if there is any comfort in that; but I think it helped her as it does me now.