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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