At the age of five, of six, at the age of seven, I
used to begin weeping sometimes without warning,
simply for the sake of weeping, my eyes open wide
to the sun, to the flowers…I wanted to feel an
immense grief inside me, and it came.
Misty-eyed moments have been
coming in tear dropping waves for
days which seem to be pushed out
and about not unlike the gusty north
winds of this lackluster autumn.
Know not fully I the source nor
the origin of such sorrowfulness,
but the day’s cup has been so wholly
filled with their salty leavings that
it appears now to be weeping too.
And although I’ve tried to lift off
the heaviness I feel in my heart and
to look for reasons to break into a
smile of sincere gratitude for the day,
its weightiness yet holds me down.
Perhaps it’s just the price one has
to pay for loving deeply and for
living life in a world that’s fallen and
so bereft of peace that one has a dire
need to find rainbows in her soul.
The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.
~John Vance Cheney
Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. ~Psalm 126:6 ✝
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