Renee, I think strange about sums up this week! I feel as thought the actual foundations have been crumbling beneath my feet and I have been clinging on for dear life. Of course, I am meant to let go and fall like Alice in Wonderland, at a slow meander through everything that has become ‘curiouser and curiouser’. I am meant to let it all come crashing down. The broken glasses, the smashed clock, the bedside lamp that stops working, the door that I can’t lock, that is locked. Look how topsy turvy the world is. You can no longer believe what you see. I will continue to fall, as the casual observer, ‘oh look at that’. One thing is for sure, things will never be the same. In love, in support, in grace with your silence. Louise x
Oh Louise, love and blessings to you dear one! This sounds so liminal to me. "The door that can't lock is locked!" "How topsy turvy the world is." In a new home but foundations are crumbling. The liminal can be so incredibly challenging and difficult at times. May this continual falling lift you up! ❤❤❤
You share a telling glimpse of the world gone topsy-turvy!
"Of course, I am meant to let go and fall like Alice in Wonderland, at a slow meander through everything that has become 'curioser and curioser'. I am meant to let it all come crashing down. . . . Look how topsy turvy the world is. . . . oh look at that."
The collective is crying. The collective is overwhelmed and Sweet Petunia apparently just had enough! I am sending her (and you) love and light for a full repair and reset. May you nourish your deepest self while you have your writing retreat, hopefully in utter dryness!
Thank you for sharing this piece from Rilke, I have not read it before now. When I began reading it my brain read the first line as "I believe nearly all our griefs are now at moments of tension" and my thoughts immediately went to the snapping point of the whole world as it is right now. The things that have happened in America recently have tilted many of us over an edge that was already precarious. However, I read it incorrectly.
But, maybe I didn't? Because that's what we are all feeling.
I am so sorry you are going through a hard time with your van on top of everything else that's weighing on our spirits. May you be well.❤
Thank you for reflecting that not only the US but the world feels what transpires in the US. It's personal for every being on the planet, and Sweet Petunia has had her say! 🙏
“When it “happens” [again] at a later time—when it becomes obvious to others—then we feel an intimate kinship with it. And that is necessary. It is needed, and our evolvement will gradually go in that direction: nothing strange shall befall us, but rather that which already for a long time belonged to us.”
Oh that last thought is so beautiful. So crucial and elemental, like the decay of death folding over and over into the rich soils that bring new life.
Thank you Renée, this gave a quick flash into the current status of Grief living in me.
I grieve... that I will never know what I seek. The Truth is always hidden... and I will never express it in Honesty... only through the limited lens of which I am capable.
I grieve... that 'whatever this is' will not be enough. Solemn within reflecting on the imperfect.
And now - to let that carry me... to feel that knowing "has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer there either—it is already in the blood."
You reflect so poignantly on the gaping abyss of our felt sense of the eternal hiddenness and the grief in yearning to see what we seek. Words only seem to walk around this hidden Truth that we catch glimmers of.
What touches me so is that you do not shy away from the deeply personal nature of grieving "whatever this is," that it "will not be enough." Whew. . . .
Rilke invites us to let this yearning and sorrow live in our depths -- a courageous way of being. From our correspondences and conversations, I sense you are no stranger to this courage.
I don't know what it is with all the oceanic metaphors thrown at me as of late. Now - Abyss, Depths - and I can see the courage of Being within those writhing tides - both of the world in it's own fluidity - as a 'mapping' the current under-currents of "Shared Truth (or Grief)" of our reality.
I see the deep-word-work of 'Abysmal' - adding to the equation that we are all 'under the waters' of a worldwide, overpowering grief - unequal to the resistance of being able to 'stay with the trouble'... of personal survival within cultural expectations.
It's as if.... I have to bear the sorrow; if only for myself - and let the world pass on... pass through...
Thank you for this corresponding reflection. I am going to meander just a bit. Hopefully, this will make sense.
You have read/are familiar with Donna Haraway's Staying with the Trouble. Your expression, "'under the waters' of a worldwide, overpowering grief--unequal to the resistance of being able to 'stay with the trouble', seems to . . . stay with the trouble . . . "as if . . . I have to bear the sorrow."
Some years ago, I wrote a paper entitled "Becoming Intimate with What We Cannot Bear," which I mention here to echo you in saying bearing sorrow is where we seem to be. That paper concludes with words not my own, touching at the heart of yours: "Can it be the community who knows how to lament [. . .] is the one who finds barren places to be springs of life?” (Todd Donatelli)
Are we at a turn in the human condition to join hands in sorrow?
Again comes Rilke, that "I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other." For it is in solitude, meaning the deep interiority of our own being, that grief has "entered the heart."
And so, turning this reflection now to the beginning of yours, re: abyss/abysmal and the murmuring deep springs of oceanic life and solitude. . . .
In Sunday's (July 28) letter, we heard from Thomas Merton, his words offering a natural next place to put the foot on the path of bearing these times. Merton writes:
"The truest solitude is not something outside you, not absence of [others] or of sound around you: it is an abyss opening up in the center of your soul.
And this abyss of interior solitude is created by a hunger that will never be satisfied with any created thing."
I read this passage again, and I 'hear' your words.
I wish I could blow you and Sweet Petunia some dry heat. She'd dry right up in an hour, with a whiff of oenothera breath for good measure (a fine complement to petunia).
You know how well I relate to Rilke here on feeling our way through transitions. Thank you for his company and yours.
Use all the choice words you need. I can't imagine Petunia minds. ;-)
Oenothera and petunia . . . lovely companions who can word with the best of them! I do believe I know well how you relate to Rilke here. And I'm glad his words found your good company. 🥰
Renée, thanks so much for this share today. And blessings and healing for Sweet Petunia. I had to stop reading after I read the name of your van, a memory came forward... Movies are given a working titles before the final one, before I was born I was given a working name, Petunia Sue. Well, apparently my parents decided to play a joke on my dad's parents, after I was born they sent them a birth announcement with the name "Petunia Sue". They never liked the name and were very relieved when told the truth. And then this name stuck as nickname.
Regarding the quote from Rilke, grief has been a very close companion lately after the passing of my dear friend. I was taken with these words, "For a moment everything intimate and familiar has been taken from us. We stand in the midst of a transition, where we cannot remain standing." And something new does come in, just as Rilke said after that. I feel transformed, transfigured by this grief, I am no longer the same. My heart has softened, I am more open to my surroundings and to life. I miss Brent everyday. And he also gave me an incredible gift in his sudden leaving...
Your reflections on grief are stirring, and I thank you for sharing them here. Your intimacy with the grief in missing Brent is palpable, Julie, and filled with the grace that seems only to come when we are so open as you are. I extend my heart to you.
Thank you also for sharing this story and memory of your "working name"! I am enchanted to read. The name for the van did not come until the night after returning from the pilgrimage. My son and I were marveling at naming houses, boats . . . vans. I chirped "Sweet Petunia," and it stuck!
Renee, I think strange about sums up this week! I feel as thought the actual foundations have been crumbling beneath my feet and I have been clinging on for dear life. Of course, I am meant to let go and fall like Alice in Wonderland, at a slow meander through everything that has become ‘curiouser and curiouser’. I am meant to let it all come crashing down. The broken glasses, the smashed clock, the bedside lamp that stops working, the door that I can’t lock, that is locked. Look how topsy turvy the world is. You can no longer believe what you see. I will continue to fall, as the casual observer, ‘oh look at that’. One thing is for sure, things will never be the same. In love, in support, in grace with your silence. Louise x
Oh Louise, love and blessings to you dear one! This sounds so liminal to me. "The door that can't lock is locked!" "How topsy turvy the world is." In a new home but foundations are crumbling. The liminal can be so incredibly challenging and difficult at times. May this continual falling lift you up! ❤❤❤
Thank you so much Julie for your support. I’ll continue to let it unfold and see which way I end up! 😂
Louise,
You share a telling glimpse of the world gone topsy-turvy!
"Of course, I am meant to let go and fall like Alice in Wonderland, at a slow meander through everything that has become 'curioser and curioser'. I am meant to let it all come crashing down. . . . Look how topsy turvy the world is. . . . oh look at that."
We join hands, Louise. 🙏
The collective is crying. The collective is overwhelmed and Sweet Petunia apparently just had enough! I am sending her (and you) love and light for a full repair and reset. May you nourish your deepest self while you have your writing retreat, hopefully in utter dryness!
Thank you for sharing this piece from Rilke, I have not read it before now. When I began reading it my brain read the first line as "I believe nearly all our griefs are now at moments of tension" and my thoughts immediately went to the snapping point of the whole world as it is right now. The things that have happened in America recently have tilted many of us over an edge that was already precarious. However, I read it incorrectly.
But, maybe I didn't? Because that's what we are all feeling.
I am so sorry you are going through a hard time with your van on top of everything else that's weighing on our spirits. May you be well.❤
Donna,
Thank you for reflecting that not only the US but the world feels what transpires in the US. It's personal for every being on the planet, and Sweet Petunia has had her say! 🙏
“When it “happens” [again] at a later time—when it becomes obvious to others—then we feel an intimate kinship with it. And that is necessary. It is needed, and our evolvement will gradually go in that direction: nothing strange shall befall us, but rather that which already for a long time belonged to us.”
Oh that last thought is so beautiful. So crucial and elemental, like the decay of death folding over and over into the rich soils that bring new life.
Such beauty in your words to compliment Rilke's, Kimberly. Thank you.
Thank you Renée, this gave a quick flash into the current status of Grief living in me.
I grieve... that I will never know what I seek. The Truth is always hidden... and I will never express it in Honesty... only through the limited lens of which I am capable.
I grieve... that 'whatever this is' will not be enough. Solemn within reflecting on the imperfect.
And now - to let that carry me... to feel that knowing "has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer there either—it is already in the blood."
Jacob,
You reflect so poignantly on the gaping abyss of our felt sense of the eternal hiddenness and the grief in yearning to see what we seek. Words only seem to walk around this hidden Truth that we catch glimmers of.
What touches me so is that you do not shy away from the deeply personal nature of grieving "whatever this is," that it "will not be enough." Whew. . . .
Rilke invites us to let this yearning and sorrow live in our depths -- a courageous way of being. From our correspondences and conversations, I sense you are no stranger to this courage.
Thank you for this.
I don't know what it is with all the oceanic metaphors thrown at me as of late. Now - Abyss, Depths - and I can see the courage of Being within those writhing tides - both of the world in it's own fluidity - as a 'mapping' the current under-currents of "Shared Truth (or Grief)" of our reality.
I see the deep-word-work of 'Abysmal' - adding to the equation that we are all 'under the waters' of a worldwide, overpowering grief - unequal to the resistance of being able to 'stay with the trouble'... of personal survival within cultural expectations.
It's as if.... I have to bear the sorrow; if only for myself - and let the world pass on... pass through...
Dear Jacob,
Thank you for this corresponding reflection. I am going to meander just a bit. Hopefully, this will make sense.
You have read/are familiar with Donna Haraway's Staying with the Trouble. Your expression, "'under the waters' of a worldwide, overpowering grief--unequal to the resistance of being able to 'stay with the trouble', seems to . . . stay with the trouble . . . "as if . . . I have to bear the sorrow."
Some years ago, I wrote a paper entitled "Becoming Intimate with What We Cannot Bear," which I mention here to echo you in saying bearing sorrow is where we seem to be. That paper concludes with words not my own, touching at the heart of yours: "Can it be the community who knows how to lament [. . .] is the one who finds barren places to be springs of life?” (Todd Donatelli)
Are we at a turn in the human condition to join hands in sorrow?
Again comes Rilke, that "I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other." For it is in solitude, meaning the deep interiority of our own being, that grief has "entered the heart."
And so, turning this reflection now to the beginning of yours, re: abyss/abysmal and the murmuring deep springs of oceanic life and solitude. . . .
In Sunday's (July 28) letter, we heard from Thomas Merton, his words offering a natural next place to put the foot on the path of bearing these times. Merton writes:
"The truest solitude is not something outside you, not absence of [others] or of sound around you: it is an abyss opening up in the center of your soul.
And this abyss of interior solitude is created by a hunger that will never be satisfied with any created thing."
I read this passage again, and I 'hear' your words.
I wish I could blow you and Sweet Petunia some dry heat. She'd dry right up in an hour, with a whiff of oenothera breath for good measure (a fine complement to petunia).
You know how well I relate to Rilke here on feeling our way through transitions. Thank you for his company and yours.
Use all the choice words you need. I can't imagine Petunia minds. ;-)
Tara,
Oenothera and petunia . . . lovely companions who can word with the best of them! I do believe I know well how you relate to Rilke here. And I'm glad his words found your good company. 🥰
❤️
Renée, thanks so much for this share today. And blessings and healing for Sweet Petunia. I had to stop reading after I read the name of your van, a memory came forward... Movies are given a working titles before the final one, before I was born I was given a working name, Petunia Sue. Well, apparently my parents decided to play a joke on my dad's parents, after I was born they sent them a birth announcement with the name "Petunia Sue". They never liked the name and were very relieved when told the truth. And then this name stuck as nickname.
Regarding the quote from Rilke, grief has been a very close companion lately after the passing of my dear friend. I was taken with these words, "For a moment everything intimate and familiar has been taken from us. We stand in the midst of a transition, where we cannot remain standing." And something new does come in, just as Rilke said after that. I feel transformed, transfigured by this grief, I am no longer the same. My heart has softened, I am more open to my surroundings and to life. I miss Brent everyday. And he also gave me an incredible gift in his sudden leaving...
Julie,
Your reflections on grief are stirring, and I thank you for sharing them here. Your intimacy with the grief in missing Brent is palpable, Julie, and filled with the grace that seems only to come when we are so open as you are. I extend my heart to you.
Thank you also for sharing this story and memory of your "working name"! I am enchanted to read. The name for the van did not come until the night after returning from the pilgrimage. My son and I were marveling at naming houses, boats . . . vans. I chirped "Sweet Petunia," and it stuck!
With love,
Renée
Thank you for Rilke this week, Renee. And blessings on you and Petunia as you dry out.
Dear Emily, thank you so.
I have been reflecting on Rilke more and more as not only a poet and mystic but a "wisdom teacher" for our time.
So, so true. He's very important to me in my ongoing journey of awakening and unknowing.
This Rilke quote speaks directly to my heart. Thankyou so much for sharing it here.🙏
Dearest Megan, you are so welcome. 🙏