Holy Ground
Where there is sorrow there is Holy Ground.
— Oscar Wilde
Life has recently bestowed upon me the tempering gift of loss. My heart aches, and it is beautiful. My faith wanes, and it is wonderful. My passion fades, and it is bearable—barely. I often flounder in the crushing waves of what I often perceive as The Unbearable.
For the most part, my life is simple and sweet. My days are filled with beauty and grace. And still, the pain of life remains present. Nearly as far back as I can remember, pain has been a companion. For much of my life, I tried to turn away from it. But now, I know that the only way through pain is to allow it to companion me.
Grief is a deep, dark well of complexity where souls forge their true, unique song. There are many such wells to sink into and sing within throughout a single lifetime. Each of us must face our own constellation. None is better or worse; they are simply different. Yet they are all connected by an underground water table, flowing with the transformative Mythic.
Sorrow connects us. That is why it is Holy Ground.
As Francis Weller so beautifully says, grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning.
You cannot live and grow in love without drawing sustenance from the nutrient-rich wells of loss, sorrow, and grief that support the very foundation of each step we take in honour of life and nurture every thread we weave of our lore.
Nearly all of my counselling clients are experiencing tremendous loss right now. Most of us are. If not now, then later. We are companioning each other through that sacred terrain. What I have come to know with greater certainty over time is that the only way to be tempered into who we are meant to become is to turn toward the pain, to be dissolved by the melting medium of our grief, so that we may remember how to come back together again, over and over. It’s a Grande Mystery, and it matters more than we can know.
To whoever is out there reading this, carrying the weight of loss and the fierce grace of love in your tender heart, know that you are not alone. Invite intimacy when you can, when you are willing and courageous enough. You may be surprised at how tender so many of us are, and how willing we are to simply be with each other in the shifting, sifting sands of time.