I hear the news of mass extinction, of the insects, the oceans, of those displaced, of what we are loosing; at first numbly, then it trickles into what I feel when I notice the delicate arrival of a blue tit… and I feel..
..waves of despair.
I watch myself holding tightly to the glimmers of beauty which appear unannounced; and realise I will (if I am still around) see the gaps, gaps where something beautiful once was. Grief pounds at me.
I believe they are all parts of my (and our) collective grief. Mourning for the only home any of us has ever known. I am trying to learn to grieve better. I’m not sure I know exactly how, but I do know it is the only way of honouring all I/we have loved and will continue to love. It is the only way, I think, to learn to be with what is, hopefully, together; and do what we can while we can. And to appreciate the now in a deepening way.
And nothing I can write can seem to capture the enormity of the rage and grief of this.
But still I decided to write this on my blog. I want to say to you if this is overwhelming you, then, me too, maybe differently, and still. I don’t think it shouldn’t either. It is so beyond me to hold this, all I can is be part of this wave of grief. I want to say, if this speaks to you, I respect your (individual and collective) pain and all that you are uniquely holding.
… and sometimes I feel overwhelming gratitude for being able to experience
and sometimes rage just swells.