There is a beauty and heartbreak to this life that can never be formed into words, only felt in the caverns of our being. Precious and penetrating. I feel it both as if it’s housed somewhere in the space of this body – this flesh, these bones – and yet also somewhere that is beyond containment. A place we’ve all travelled but can never describe.
Spring is upon the cemetery now. The quickly fading snowdrops, yellow primroses and a crocus carpet of purple and white. There is that light, that smell, that feeling that I try and fail to touch with words again and again.
Sometimes I wish the pain would go and leave only behind the beauty. And yet they are such a tangled knot – one giving rise to the other – that we could spend a lifetime trying and never arrive at separating the two.
And so there is nothing for it but to dive headlong into the soup. To be in the beauty, to be in the pain and to marvel at the very fact that any of it is experienced at all.
Perhaps, if we are lucky, we might learn to dance with grace.
Love and courage,
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