Unexpected Wisdom

In times of confusion or grief or despair, my first instinct is to find answers. Often there are none, but it’s a reflex action to reach out to grab something when you’re falling. Usually I turn to books.

At the scattering of my boyfriend’s ashes, a friend gave me a good one. “When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times” by Pema Chödrön. This book is so profound, so deep, that I can only read it in short spurts. Read one chapter, let it sink in for week or so while I read something less intense. I’m sure I’ll be writing more about this book in the future.

I also bought another book on line. “Yoga for Grief Relief” by Antonio Sausys. I have to admit I haven’t even started on this one yet. I know when I do, it will require that I pull myself out of this fetal position I’ve been in for the past month and a half, and I’m not quite ready yet. But I like to look at the cover and I take comfort in the fact that there are steps to take to feel better. Some day. Soon. I hope it’s good.

But what’s interesting is when wisdom comes along from an unexpected source. You’re sitting there, minding your own business, and WHAM! Insight. That happened to me a few minutes ago. I was reading “Odd Hours” by Dean Koontz. That is the light fare I am currently using to clear my mental palate between Pema Chödrön chapters. I wasn’t expecting advice. I was actually looking forward to having none. That’s part of the beauty of most Dean Koontz books. Pure escape. But there you have it. I don’t seem to be in control. Dammit. So I’ll leave you with this quote from Dean Koontz, because it sums up everything that I’m feeling right now better than I could ever begin to explain it myself.

“Grief can destroy you—or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning than you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, so you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn’t allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it’s over and you’re alone, you begin to see it wasn’t just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or washing dishes together or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can’t get off your knees for a long time, you’re driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life.”

Namaste.

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Author: The View from a Drawbridge

I have been a bridgetender since 2001, and gives me plenty of time to think and observe the world. View all posts by The View from a Drawbridge