Saturday, September 6, 2014

What Did You Do?

It's 3:23 in the morning,
and I'm awake
because my great, great, grandchildren
 won't -let -me -sleep.
My great, great, grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do, while the planet was plundered?
what did you do, when the earth was unravelling?
surely you did something when the seasons started failing
as the mammals, reptiles, and birds were all dying?
did you fill the streets with protest when democracy was stolen?
what did you do

Drew Dellinger

I suppose, because my brother's funeral is immanent, that explains the kind of universal grief I feel on this trip.  And it is shocking to see the drought in Califorina.  Grief  sits in my chest, and follows me up the road, the unwelcome rider.  In my experience,  grief is something we need to say hello to, something you have to open the door to, offer a cup of tea, and listen to the stories Grief has to tell.  One way or another, Grief needs to be grieved out until our hearts break open in the places they need to break open, and we can emotionally "breath" again, have responsive hearts.  I don't mean make a permanent place for grief, to make a state religion of it like Queen Victoria did for her lost Albert.........but I do not believe it is possible to go forward without allowing loss its place.

 I find I am not so much grieving for my brother, but for the loss of so much, the strange experience of not having a family anymore (which is something many elders have to come to terms with),   so many people I've known.  I return to familiar places, expecting to find somehow my former self, and she is gone, not there.   And most of all, I grieve and pray for every precious being, pristine ocean, seaweed, the pink ladies that come up every August, rain or dry, giving us so much generous grace.  Thirsty little deer, seeking a drink at a diminished lake.  The grey fox slipping into the compost pile.  Redwoods, each one  a cathedral, reaching into the sky.  Bees.  Blackberries, growing beside the road.

Drew Dellinger

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