It rained hard all night, which gets me jumpy about our roof, since we have a weak spot in our area between our bedroom and the bathroom, and also we have no idea what's going on at our cabin, with all the wind and rain and snow. Today is gloriously sunny, but this morning my husband said he thought he heard the thud of a tree falling in the night. Not too close by, but maybe on the next street. We've had two huge trees do just that recently. Too much drought, then too much rain. I also think last night my mind was balancing between things dark and mysterious and threatening and the hope that all will be well because I'd just finished "Lincoln in the Bardo" by George Saunders. It's an incredible balancing act itself, describing the grief of Lincoln for his dead son Willie, the ghosts in the cemetary who can't quite accept that they are dead and fully let go of this world, and the almost unbearable beauty of this world and the love we find in it. Abraham Lincoln's love for his son is enobling and ordinary, wrenching and healing. His sense of guilt and being unable to rise to the demands of being President and the Civil War are balanced with his deep, profound understanding of the grief of all the families who lost and are losing their sons in this war. His ability to be conduit for slaves and the lost and innocent is what made him persevere. His loss allowed compassion to bloom and grow in his weary soul.
We hold the dark and light of this world in our consciousness, and if we do not block out one or the other, we remain truly alive, awake, aware, and able to take actions that help ourselves and others. That is the blessing hidden in grief.
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