The writing and reading of poetry feels all that is meant for times like these. Reading this reminds me that we all face this tumult in our lives, many more than once, and I wish we could all hold one another through it. Grief is indeed not a soft place. 🧡
And ... before commenting, I went looking for a line from Mary Oliver, knowing your love for her, but there were too many variations on love and grief to choose from. I would like to ponder her poem on making friends with sorrow, she puts it so perfectly without making it too sad.
Making friends with sorrow… I read that poem.. it’s so poignant. It reminds me of how Thich Nhat Hanh says to hold difficult feelings with tenderness.. like cradling a baby.
“This makes me wonder, through whose eyes do I see this world? Is it really mine, or those of the ancestors who lived before me—who loved and lost, were rooted by awe, and riveted by grief just as I am?”
I’ve never heard someone articulate this so well before. Grief and loss absolutely made me wonder about the nature of seeing (“Seeing?”) and I could read a whole essay excavating what that looks like. Thank you for taking us here with you. 🧡
“the nature of seeing”, you put is so well Amanda and needless to say you would appreciate excavating any such essay exploring depths of such “seeing” given your diligence and vision for writing as a craft (which involves a lot seeing).
Thank you friend for holding my words with your loving attention. 💜
My sincere condolences on the passing of your beloved father. I am no stranger to the passing of a beloved, and I can feel your pain, knowing the common bond of missing the physical presence of someone who means a great deal. Grief takes us on a journey, disbelief, anger, heavy sorrow, along with chaotic bouts of clueless mourning until slowly we wake to morning, carrying the love within us, the memories that we cherish. The only certainty we have is that we will, in time, pass that same portal. They are not lost, strangely a word we all us in defining what cannot be defined. We come. We inhabit the physical, and then we fly free, beyond boundaries into the Cosmic Womb, our origin and destination. Dreams connect us, visionary experiences open us to keep the communication going. May your dreams be full of reunions with your father, bringing you the continued blessings of his love. I have spent a lifetime studying dreams, and as both a dreamer and a dream psychologist, I know these dream connections are real. Open wide the dream gate and be blessed. The body dies, but the Spirit lives eternally. Abundant blessings . https://janetpiedilato.substack.com/
Such mystical, beautiful and necessary words. You are a beautiful human Janet and your work is so important. We all understand, in our own ways, the specifics of that we encounter when we are awake but only practitioners like you understand the unconscious and the magical realm of dream.
Yes to all that you said and travelling back to the cosmic womb indeed sounds freeing in essence. 💜
I want to think of things to say to soothe your grief, because I am a little scared of grief, perhaps because I am familiar with it. But there is nothing I can say.
I have read your writing and greatly admire it. And here, we writers form alliances and kindly support each other, but these small things are not enough to hold the weight of the human condition.
So I can merely thank you for sharing this writing because I feel both strong and vulnerable when I read this, which is a powerful and humbling feeling. I hope you will walk through this time and I hope you will continue to be both strong and vulnerable and passionate like the plants your father loved so much.
Your presence and kindness will always be enough Jonathan. Just keep writing and the world will fall into place. I can seek refuge in your words- that’s all we can do for each other to provide a protection of words in each other’s storm 💜
What an incredible, shattering piece. Your short sentences are piercing--isn't it a wonder the way our bodies find new grammar to process grief? and that grammar--your short sentences--reach us, your readers, with such power and fury, from a place deep within your body, where none of us can truly join you. "My body is sacred; it defies god" has stayed with me through this harrowing week where my spiritual practices--tea, stillness, walking--feel like fits, like feverish attempts to be embodied in a world that expels bodies. when I feel utterly powerless, is when I want to turn to god--a masculine construct of ultimate power--but your words accompany me and instead I turn to "the unwaxed thighs carry the weight of the twirling dark mess of grief." We refuse to be comforted.
Yes! Yes we do! What a beautiful way to put it “grammar for grief”! I can sense your understanding of the dark knots with my throat and stomach as you write this “where none of us can truly join you” - this feels so accurate, this is the most kindest thing to say to someone who suffers- that their suffering is seen but can never be understood in the same way that they are experiencing it. Thank you Shaina for seeing me as I am.
“feverish attempt to be embodied in a world that expels body” - so much power and rawness in here my dear. I understand this discomfort and disconnect- just looking around and seeing all the brokenness is enough to know it intimately. Let us embrace the dark sacredness of the inner workings of our bodies, let us “refuse to be comforted”. 💔
Thank you for writing this. Thank you for letting us witness you. Thank you for sharing your papa with us. Thank you for reminding us that grief is a roller coaster we didn't buy a ticket to; sometimes we go up, and sometimes we go down, but all of it is shaping the next chapter of our own story. Your relationship with your father sounds so beautiful, thank you for making space for us to witness it.
My relationship with my own dad was tumultuous at the best of times and his disease and death left me with so many unanswered questions that muddied the waters of grief. However, this line "Maybe daughters are weightless like feathers, or maybe fatherly love can imitate Herculean strength," made me realize how much I've healed from the harm of my own father/daughter relationship left me with. My partner and my daughter have what that line describes. An unshakable, gloriously strong bond and I feel so honored to witness it. It's healing in its own way, as is knowing that fathers like your papa have left such beautiful gifts behind for us to bear witness to.
This is a beautifully vulnerable detail that you shared here dear friend. I am so sorry about the muddied water of complex grief that you experienced due the damage you endured. I am with you as you find new ways of letting love in and move towards healing. I hope as you experience love and healing through your partner and daughter’s relationship, you could find within you the arising sense of forgiveness towards your own father. Forgiveness is like the salve to our pains that we are afraid to touch often. Here’s to bearing witness to gentle fatherhood and all the loss that we endure 💜
Painfully beautiful. One can hope to be loved like this in one’s lifetime. I hope these beautiful moments and memories sustain you in your darkest moments.
Beautiful & moving piece, Swarnali. “The grief feels intimate, certain, and familiar, as if I have already loved for a million years and lost all the same…” Thank you for sharing this piece. And that pickle jar image is just ❤️❤️🩹
This is such a beautiful testament to the love that is twined so deeply with grief. What a gift your relationship with your father is--and will continue to be. And how dark that grief can be to move through, trying to make sense of something that never can make any sense. I love what you wrote about your Papa's pomegranate, jasmine, and how, like you, they are parts of him and his love that continue on in this world. Because your writing and sharing this with all of us is also a kind of salve that he has contributed to through your hands. 💜
Freya such warmth and tenderness in your words. You always get it right. I love how you can really see between the words and name and evoke the unnamable using words. Thank you for always seeing me my friend and acknowledging my Papa’s continuation.
I rely heavily on your work and all the beauty that you conjure. I turn to it frequently to seek refuge from pain. 💜
What beautiful memories of your father. You gifted us many glimpses of his kindness and love. They made me smile. And of course this whole piece made me cry with the tenderness of it all. It is such a lot to cope with, grief. Thank you for letting me read it.
The writing and reading of poetry feels all that is meant for times like these. Reading this reminds me that we all face this tumult in our lives, many more than once, and I wish we could all hold one another through it. Grief is indeed not a soft place. 🧡
I am keeping Mary Oliver’s ‘Devotions’ close all the time. One specific line from one of her essays reminds me of you Nia,
“I walk in this world to love it”
Thank you for being you. Your words are my favourite thing to turn to when the world seems noisy and incoherent. 💜
I feel the same about yours, my friend.
And ... before commenting, I went looking for a line from Mary Oliver, knowing your love for her, but there were too many variations on love and grief to choose from. I would like to ponder her poem on making friends with sorrow, she puts it so perfectly without making it too sad.
Making friends with sorrow… I read that poem.. it’s so poignant. It reminds me of how Thich Nhat Hanh says to hold difficult feelings with tenderness.. like cradling a baby.
And yourself, my friend. Hold yourself with tenderness, especially when your knees feel taken out from under you at unexpected moments.
Nia 😭💜🕯️
Chloe Hope wrote this today:
"The depth of grief will always match the depth of love, because they are one and the same."
💜
Oh wow! I had to read Chloe’s piece yet. It sounds very accurate- all the grief we feel is only love in disguise 💜
“This makes me wonder, through whose eyes do I see this world? Is it really mine, or those of the ancestors who lived before me—who loved and lost, were rooted by awe, and riveted by grief just as I am?”
I’ve never heard someone articulate this so well before. Grief and loss absolutely made me wonder about the nature of seeing (“Seeing?”) and I could read a whole essay excavating what that looks like. Thank you for taking us here with you. 🧡
“the nature of seeing”, you put is so well Amanda and needless to say you would appreciate excavating any such essay exploring depths of such “seeing” given your diligence and vision for writing as a craft (which involves a lot seeing).
Thank you friend for holding my words with your loving attention. 💜
Thank you for the gift of letting us see you, Swarna, and for sharing your precious Dad (& Mum) with us.
Thank you dear Michelle for seeing me (and my parents) and sticking by me always 💜
My sincere condolences on the passing of your beloved father. I am no stranger to the passing of a beloved, and I can feel your pain, knowing the common bond of missing the physical presence of someone who means a great deal. Grief takes us on a journey, disbelief, anger, heavy sorrow, along with chaotic bouts of clueless mourning until slowly we wake to morning, carrying the love within us, the memories that we cherish. The only certainty we have is that we will, in time, pass that same portal. They are not lost, strangely a word we all us in defining what cannot be defined. We come. We inhabit the physical, and then we fly free, beyond boundaries into the Cosmic Womb, our origin and destination. Dreams connect us, visionary experiences open us to keep the communication going. May your dreams be full of reunions with your father, bringing you the continued blessings of his love. I have spent a lifetime studying dreams, and as both a dreamer and a dream psychologist, I know these dream connections are real. Open wide the dream gate and be blessed. The body dies, but the Spirit lives eternally. Abundant blessings . https://janetpiedilato.substack.com/
Such mystical, beautiful and necessary words. You are a beautiful human Janet and your work is so important. We all understand, in our own ways, the specifics of that we encounter when we are awake but only practitioners like you understand the unconscious and the magical realm of dream.
Yes to all that you said and travelling back to the cosmic womb indeed sounds freeing in essence. 💜
I want to think of things to say to soothe your grief, because I am a little scared of grief, perhaps because I am familiar with it. But there is nothing I can say.
I have read your writing and greatly admire it. And here, we writers form alliances and kindly support each other, but these small things are not enough to hold the weight of the human condition.
So I can merely thank you for sharing this writing because I feel both strong and vulnerable when I read this, which is a powerful and humbling feeling. I hope you will walk through this time and I hope you will continue to be both strong and vulnerable and passionate like the plants your father loved so much.
Peace and kindness to you
Your presence and kindness will always be enough Jonathan. Just keep writing and the world will fall into place. I can seek refuge in your words- that’s all we can do for each other to provide a protection of words in each other’s storm 💜
"I feel both strong and vulnerable when I read this"--that's exactly how it feels Swarna--we feel that essence as we walk (or read) alongside you. 💜🧚🏼
In a world where putting up a facade and acting insensitive is the norm- let’s us rebel by showing our hearts and connecting deeply with one another 💜
yes! 💜 🧚🏼♂️
What an incredible, shattering piece. Your short sentences are piercing--isn't it a wonder the way our bodies find new grammar to process grief? and that grammar--your short sentences--reach us, your readers, with such power and fury, from a place deep within your body, where none of us can truly join you. "My body is sacred; it defies god" has stayed with me through this harrowing week where my spiritual practices--tea, stillness, walking--feel like fits, like feverish attempts to be embodied in a world that expels bodies. when I feel utterly powerless, is when I want to turn to god--a masculine construct of ultimate power--but your words accompany me and instead I turn to "the unwaxed thighs carry the weight of the twirling dark mess of grief." We refuse to be comforted.
Yes! Yes we do! What a beautiful way to put it “grammar for grief”! I can sense your understanding of the dark knots with my throat and stomach as you write this “where none of us can truly join you” - this feels so accurate, this is the most kindest thing to say to someone who suffers- that their suffering is seen but can never be understood in the same way that they are experiencing it. Thank you Shaina for seeing me as I am.
“feverish attempt to be embodied in a world that expels body” - so much power and rawness in here my dear. I understand this discomfort and disconnect- just looking around and seeing all the brokenness is enough to know it intimately. Let us embrace the dark sacredness of the inner workings of our bodies, let us “refuse to be comforted”. 💔
💔💔💔
Thank you for writing this. Thank you for letting us witness you. Thank you for sharing your papa with us. Thank you for reminding us that grief is a roller coaster we didn't buy a ticket to; sometimes we go up, and sometimes we go down, but all of it is shaping the next chapter of our own story. Your relationship with your father sounds so beautiful, thank you for making space for us to witness it.
My relationship with my own dad was tumultuous at the best of times and his disease and death left me with so many unanswered questions that muddied the waters of grief. However, this line "Maybe daughters are weightless like feathers, or maybe fatherly love can imitate Herculean strength," made me realize how much I've healed from the harm of my own father/daughter relationship left me with. My partner and my daughter have what that line describes. An unshakable, gloriously strong bond and I feel so honored to witness it. It's healing in its own way, as is knowing that fathers like your papa have left such beautiful gifts behind for us to bear witness to.
This is a beautifully vulnerable detail that you shared here dear friend. I am so sorry about the muddied water of complex grief that you experienced due the damage you endured. I am with you as you find new ways of letting love in and move towards healing. I hope as you experience love and healing through your partner and daughter’s relationship, you could find within you the arising sense of forgiveness towards your own father. Forgiveness is like the salve to our pains that we are afraid to touch often. Here’s to bearing witness to gentle fatherhood and all the loss that we endure 💜
Painfully beautiful. One can hope to be loved like this in one’s lifetime. I hope these beautiful moments and memories sustain you in your darkest moments.
Thank you for sparing your attention and kindness on me Natalie. I pray for your peace and happiness kind friend. 💜
Beautiful & moving piece, Swarnali. “The grief feels intimate, certain, and familiar, as if I have already loved for a million years and lost all the same…” Thank you for sharing this piece. And that pickle jar image is just ❤️❤️🩹
Thank you dear friend for seeing me. Much love and grace to you 💜
This is such a beautiful testament to the love that is twined so deeply with grief. What a gift your relationship with your father is--and will continue to be. And how dark that grief can be to move through, trying to make sense of something that never can make any sense. I love what you wrote about your Papa's pomegranate, jasmine, and how, like you, they are parts of him and his love that continue on in this world. Because your writing and sharing this with all of us is also a kind of salve that he has contributed to through your hands. 💜
Freya such warmth and tenderness in your words. You always get it right. I love how you can really see between the words and name and evoke the unnamable using words. Thank you for always seeing me my friend and acknowledging my Papa’s continuation.
I rely heavily on your work and all the beauty that you conjure. I turn to it frequently to seek refuge from pain. 💜
i’m so thankful to be in this world with you my sister. 💜 🧚🏼♂️
💜🧚😭
wow.
💜
I found a friend among your words, thank you
Welcome home love 💜
What beautiful memories of your father. You gifted us many glimpses of his kindness and love. They made me smile. And of course this whole piece made me cry with the tenderness of it all. It is such a lot to cope with, grief. Thank you for letting me read it.
Thank you Nelly. I’m holding my heart out for you 💜
That was beautiful and brought tears to my eyes! Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading 💜
Beautiful essay about grief & its inevitable impact. Thank you!
Thank you for reading Charles.