The evolution of suffering


“To pull and pull the rope of grief, until that coiled hill of tears
has reduced to its last drop.”
― John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings

reditions of mourning

I feel like a fake in the real world,
people say I’m brave,
but am I,

In my closet of tears
my safe place,
sadness falls
around me!

I’m in the presence of angels,
guiding me,
bringing me back to life.

And deep down,
inside this dark place of sorrow
there’s something
supernatural emerging,
stirring me
into knowing.

Opening me to wonders
beyond this Earth.

Whisper by whisper,
molecule by molecule
I discover that I’m not dreaming!

I’m awakening in divine presence…

The brutality of grief
rendered me numb
for a time;
unable to speak coherently
I spoke in scribbles,
mindless meanders.

I’ve been cracked wide open                        split apart.

In the silence,
in the secret…

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Yet, one day we feel the sun on our face again.



We never really get over a devastating loss.
In the thick of it, we almost stop breathing; sometimes even wishing we could.
And we know deep within that we will never be the same.
Yet, one day we feel the sun on our face again.
We find ourselves smiling at a child or a joke or a memory.
And at that moment, we realize we are finding our way back.
Changed forever? Yes.
But also softer, deeper, more vulnerable and more loving too.
And we are breathing again.

Text & image source: Welcome Home

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