It’s funny how our relationship with feeling sad has changed so much as a society. We place ourselves on soft clouds of medication and float over most emotional canyons.
The poets and writers of the late 1800’s (Emily Dickinson, Herman Melville, Walt Whitman) really took the exploration of feeling depression to points of near ecstasy.
Teacher and writer, Timothy Morton once called depression, “frozen wisdom.” His point was that all sadness has something to tell us, but our suffering comes from waiting for it to melt.
But sorrow is a cocktail best sipped gently. Best enjoyed with a steady hand. Best sought and secured deliberately.
An old Zen proverb says “sometimes a man must burn down house in order to see the moon.” Maybe that is me with my terminal cancer. I’m just stretching to see the moon now.
When looked at like a secret symphony, my current situation produces terrifying notes. I want to see my girls graduate. I want to walk them down the isle. I want to see my grandchildren. But deep within it’s rhythmic inner workings, the situation remains just a song. I must hear it. All of it. Every note, no matter how sour. Along with every heartbreaking rest.
I yearn to hear the entire song in it’s full depth. To understand all of it and the dark reasons behind these events. Some days it only feels like I can isolate a key stanza. Or I can corner a single counter-melody. I trap it and attempt to extract answers. But it’s all part of this greater sadness. A storm cloud I am not afraid to embrace. The melody is far too sweet on days like this.
With Fierce Hope,