Can intimacy with grief create a sensitivity to the grief of others?

Much like previously broken bones have been known to ache with changes in the weather?

Aches due to changes in the barometric pressure which occurs with coming storms, as some propose?

Do our inner places previously broken by grief experience changes in some emotional barometric pressure in the face of someone else’s grief storms?

Because we do not “get over loss,” but rather adjust to loss, make space for loss, integrate it into our lives, are changed by loss?

And witnessing someone else’s true grief, remember being there?

In a manner that those whose lives have not been intimately etched by grief cannot?

I wonder.

© E. Wright 2015


The back of the room

My positioning is strategic
This place at the back of the room

Not to see better
Not be antisocial
Not because I am unaware of the Civil Rights Movement

The reason is simple
I have had lots of carbs for lunch
And am unsure if the 6 ozs or so of coffee I had en route
Will be enough to ward off a full onslaught from sleep
When I have already noticed its scouting party

My rationale is
From here
the involuntary closing of my eye lids
Combined with any sudden drop of my head
from an upright position to resting on my chest
will all be less noticeable
From the back of the room

Say what you will
But I will maintain that my logic is sound 🙂

© E. Wright 2015

A thing for sunlight

I have a thing for you, sunlight
A thing that is currently unnamed

But I do love your gentle, warmth on my face
Warmth which often feels like a kiss or caress
Warmth for which I reach and lean into whenever the opportunity arises
Warmth which seems enhanced through window panes on cold winter days

I unabashedly admit I love how you present yourself in early mornings, sunlight
Dressed in pinks, and light yellows, and diverse hues
Turning the skies into a breath stealing panorama

I watch in wonder as tree tops, lawns, walls, weather beaten fences, sometimes a single flower
Become your palette throughout the day
Transformed by your passage
And I am deeply moved by your goodbyes at the end of the day

Yes, I have a thing for you, sunlight
And how you turn my inner eyes toward and swell my heart with gratitude
For the One Who made you and all things

The Same, Kin, or Different?

Is resignation the same as surrender?
I have pondered this question on and off for years

Resignation conveys to me a weariness
Even a learned helplessness
An acceptance based on the belief that nothing will change
Regardless of effort, no matter how strenuous
An acceptance arrived at after much fruitless effort

Surrender, on the other hand
Suggests a yielding
A letting go
Even a making room for different
It can come after resistance
But originating, not from fear or weakness
But clarity and strength

How do you view them? As the same, kin, or different?