To everything there is a season, … A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance… The Book of Ecclesiastes.
Let’s face it. These times are painful – for everyone.
We were not made to isolate. We are social creatures. We gain our sense of well-being, our sense of identity, belonging, from being in connection with others. And we are not getting that these days.
So it hurts.
Not being able to hug hurts. Not being able to see faces when we are talking hurts. Not being able to join in on conversations around shared meals hurts. Not being able to dance hurts.
All of these hurt.
Ironically, it had always been my game plan, when times got a little testy, to dance my cares away. Kind of like they did in the depression with the Lindy-hop. Or in Argentina with the Tango when wave and wave of immigrants tried to make sense of their displacement.
Not to be. Nothing screams, “Keep your social distance!” like a close embrace Tango.
This is not just about the loss of tango of course. It seems in these times that our lives have become unhinged, stripped bare of the comforts and conveniences that we had learned to rely on: no hugging, no family gatherings, no live concerts, no dancing.
So what do we do in these times?
Grieve it and weep.
Sure, this is not a popular option in our society. No one likes to cry in their beer. It is lonely and not in the least bit pleasurable.
Our alternative is to stuff our life with stuff – distractions, busyness, recreational shopping, anything to dull or distance us from the pain, a la …
When I am feeling lonely, touch-deprived, abandoned, what can I do?
Post something on FaceBook and wait for a like?
If I am quarantined and can’t go out into the community or see family, how do I dull the ache?
Go online shopping?
(Even now, as I write this, I am distracted by persistent web ads. What will it be? A nasal irrigation pump or an indestructible drone? Haven’t I always wanted an indestructible drone? But what I really need is a nasal irrigation pump!)
We do what we can to assuage the pain. It is sometimes simply a matter of survival, of making it through the day. Fair enough.
But the soul distress doesn’t go away with these distractions. It just goes deeper. Grief will have its day.
Grief is …
… straddling that cavernous breach between the certainty of yesterday and the fog of the future.
… the cleansing of the soul with tears, letting the emptiness wash over and over, until we fear we will drown.
… a heart pulse check, telling me I am still alive, that I am a feeling, caring, sensitive human being with all my needs and insecurities and just enough courage and character to confront them honestly.
Never waste a tear.
Lesson learned. They cost too much.
“Grief is the price we pay for loving.” Colin Murray Parkes.
Grief tells me what is really important to me, what is core for my health and well-being.
Some sadnesses are washed away quickly, others are an indelible wound which seemingly will never heal.
And maybe I don’t want them to.
How often will I gaze at pictures of my children with my eyes misting over?
Hopefully always.
How long will it be before I stop reminiscing about our pet dog, Sport?
Hopefully never.
Will we ever dance the tango without being shrouded by the ghosts of the tortured souls who first fashioned the dance?
Hopefully not.
Grief teaches us to tend to soul.
Strangely, these days, I welcome the tears of grief more and more frequently. They cleanse and renew as I await with patience something richer and more expansive.
The last word goes to a sage for the age, Rumi, a 13th century Sufi master and ecstatic dancer.
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
— Jalaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks (The Essential Rumi)
Indeed, tapping into one’s soul as a deep river
Thanks for your thoughtful response.
I loved this piece.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Julia
Thank you. Take care.
Beautifully put! (Both you and Rumi). Thank you.
Thank you!
Just reading the title made me cry. I do miss my partner, Larry Loyie, every day since he died in 2016. It is hard to heal. Five years has flown by, and that is how life is. Thank you for the thoughtful blog. You always seem to tune into the general and specific human feelings of the moment.
THanks for you thoughtful comments. Glad it spoke to you.
You always amaze me.love dave
Love back at ya’
Beautifully written. Encouraging. Thanks.
Thank you.
Great piece Grandpa!
Thanks so much for your comment. Take care.