RSS Feed Print
A cry for the grieving- writing
bela
Posted: Friday, January 8, 2016 12:39 AM
Joined: 12/15/2011
Posts: 4120


 

A Cry for the Grieving

Hear us now. Let us breathe in our anguish. For we feel a deepening pain. A malaise of grief. We want to see them. We want to hold them. We wail in our broken infinity, desperate to caress them. 

And yet we know, in the vivid reality of time:

They’re not here.

We pant in desperation, We fight for consolation. 

Why are we still here? Do we deserve to survive? Why us, and not them? 

Is the unanswerable tragic, or beautiful? Inexplicable, or transcendent?

Must we find solace in that which has haunted so much of what has come to pass?

The ache of the chasm is stifling. It is the chasm of loneliness. Of what separates us from them, our dear beloveds. Those we will not see again, in the time we have left to serve.

Please pierce this shame. This guilt. Let our every gentle fiber caress this guilt; use it as a purveyor of our truth. 

Navigate our brokenness, not for us, but with us, so that we might touch just one who needs us.

One who is alone. Just one. 

We weep, we howl, we hurl so much love into a void of pronounced silence. Pour grace into this silence. Allow our pain to be an expression of what we most truly are: carriers, listeners, silent witnesses. 

We are vagabonds on the road of tears. 

Please allow peace to envelop all of those who feel the darkness of time stand still in their loss. Who feel a translucent horror, a vexing rage of sorrow.

Can they be comforted? Consoled? Vindicated? 

Or must we do what we are so terrified to do, but must: bear witness? 

The beasts of our memories have fought their way into a tapestry of devotion.

Help us acknowledge, for we hunger to release the gorgeous vagaries of love with a vengeance.

We long to see them just one more time. To feel her again. To stake our claim on a tenderness so great even the gods would stand in awe. To commiserate with him. To understand. To listen, if even for a moment.

And the others. They make us wistful; they engender the outpouring of these words. 

These words echo across the years; they etch a creation of yearning. 

We are moving inexorably towards death. The march pierces every fiber of our collective soul. 

Have we arrived at nothing at all? Or is the nothingness a space where love most abides?

Do not wash away our tears; give us the courage to let them flow.

Do not wash away our grief; give rise to that which tears our hearts asunder.

Do not wash away our anger; infiltrate the horror that lurks within in grace.

And do not let us forget:

On this Christmas Day, they’re not here.

We weep for them in eternity.