Tag Archives: loss

4 Minutes and 7 Seconds of Sacredness


((Click on these words to find it.))

A holy grail, of sorts. Beauty and meaningfulness beyond words. If you know me, you’ll understand why. If you don’t, it’ll have its own reasons for you.

Be blessed, dear friends. I think of you.


My dad: my homeostasis. Gratitude.


Hindsight happens.

Hindsight happens.

It’s not what you look at that matters; it’s what you see. –Henry David Thoreau

I fully knew the probable outcome going into my situation. I forged ahead anyway.

I’m one of those people. I have to experience the truth for myself. If it isn’t firsthand knowledge it doesn’t feel like truth. It feels like secondary opinion.

Head knowledge is different than heart knowledge, and people like me will choose a broken-hearted wisdom over ignorant bliss every time. Without exception.

I’ve worked my way through the mine fields, planting a plant or two and singing my songs when I could. I came into things with a “can-do” attitude… I will leave humbled.

Willingness and ability are only divided by the variable of opportunity, of circumstance. I’ve at least learned that.

I wouldn’t do it again for any amount of money, or any promise of hope. Promises get broken. Money spends. There isn’t much worth gambling on or hoping for in this world anymore. I never really was the betting kind anyway. I simply took chances, and I took them not to succeed but to learn.

Succeeding in learning isn’t fun. For what it’s worth.

I’ve built a monument to tragedy in memory of innocence. I’m not sure which hurts worse: the memory or the tragedy.

Time measures our lives in units of sorrow, in incremental fractions of longing. In the moment, we only see what we can’t wait to have. Afterwards, we only see what we can’t get back. The “now” is a mistress of misery in this unseeing way, and the world –so madly– keeps spinning.

When The Words Won’t Come (Say Them Anyway)


Recently my life turned itself inside out. It’s less unpleasant than I expected but the feeling of it all has me on my toes and rather dizzy.

I am busy, but I’m here. Thinking of the many incredible and diverse people I encounter on my blog. Reflecting on the countless ways every single one of you contribute to my heart, my spirit, and ultimately my life.

Despite this relentless wilderness I’m in, I find myself still yet contemplating how the world is unfolding its endless majesties for each of you.

Just so you know.

You matter to me, amidst the infinite other things. If you have a minute you can make my day. Whisper your goings and comings my way; I will welcome the news and the sounds of you.

Your ordinary acts of love and hope point to the extraordinary promise that every human life is of inestimable value.

Desmond Tutu

Grief, Pain, and Loss: the Beauty Beyond Their Infinities


If you could have witnessed what it was like to be around my Grammy and me, you’d intuitively understand the special bond the two of us shared. Everyone in my life — and hers — knew and adored our relationship, maybe even better than they ever knew or adored us. Our own individual identities were somehow intrinsically tied to our connection; it truly was that unspeakably deep. From my first dirty diaper to my first real heartbreak, this woman and I were connected in ways that transcended human comprehension. We were each other.

You can imagine the awkward twinge of a somehow envious-yet-awestruck pain this must have caused my mother. Still; even my very own mother — even from the very beginning — understood the beautiful magnitude of such an enormous and divine love. To this day, the gratitude she feels to have been such a crucial part of that bond holds precedence over the strange and unexpected jealousy any mother might feel. My mother has more of my Grammy in her than she knows.

Because of all that, however, I received quite an overwhelming response from almost every person at my Grammy’s memorial service. For some reason, each person in attendance felt it was their own personal duty somehow to give me permission to cry.

I couldn’t cry. The entire service, I just sat there… Numb. Frozen in space and time; suspended from reality like a puppet on a string, not refusing the grief, but somehow unable to quantify it through the customary tears that every single person seemed to expect me to shed. Tears felt like a disservice to my pain. Like an insult. Tears would have suggested that the loss was measurable somehow, and it simply wasn’t. I couldn’t cry; not because I was refusing to face the sorrow, but because the sorrow was simply too gigantic to portray by crying tears of a loss that becomes accepted and embraced when we mourn. There was no way to mourn this loss… Because it was so huge, so indescribable, that it was a PART of me. The only way I can explain it is to suggest imagining how you would feel attending your own funeral in person. It was awkward and surreal and it felt like nobody truly understood the depth of the pain. If they had, they would have known without question why my heart was too broken to weep.

And after all these years, all these pivotal moments in my life where I’ve had to re-live the reality of her no longer being here with me, I have cried only once or twice about the fact that she is gone. Fifteen years later, I am still too raw and too lost for words to minimize the pain with tears that can’t reach the infinity of sorrow by her absence in my world.

Maybe the things that matter the most to us have their own journeys to take through the un-navigatable corners of our hearts and souls. For me, it seems, that much I know is true.

This an excerpt from a previous post, “All That We See or Seem…”
The vibration resounded for me today, so I shared that vibe. Maybe some part of my own grieving and cherishing process will encourage others who feel the same strain of hiking such painful, mountainous terrain. Be blessed.

Somebody Just Died

Somebody Just Died

In fact, a lot of people just died.

It happens every single time the clock ticks another second away.

Click, death. Click, death.

The sixty seconds comprising one single minute of our frazzled day each bear witness to more tragedy than our brains can comprehend, let alone measure.

Click, death. Click, death.

And looking back upon the history of humanity, it is always in these moments of catastrophic loss — the instantaneous death of thousands (Hiroshima, Hurricane Katrina, 9/11, the Oklahoma City bombing, the massive earthquake/tsunami in Japan, the list goes on and on…) — in which the internal goodness of humankind becomes visible.

Why is that? What is so morally corrupt with a world that waits for unspeakable grief to act with compassion?

I visited New York City three years after 9/11. You’d never guess what took place only three years prior by the way this city and its people were functioning… As if nothing had happened. As if they would all live forever, and the day-to-day manner in which they conducted their affairs held no weight over their sense of moral obligation to their fellow-man.

Click, death. Click, death.

Must we really be reminded? Must we depend so completely on horror and pain for our behavior towards others to matter?

It’s painstaking, just thinking about the implications this has over what has happened to our collective consciousness. We live in a world in which consumerism takes precedence over philanthropy; fashion has more appeal than inner beauty; religion is held in higher esteem than spirituality; and the world just keeps on spinning.

What if we all paused, simultaneously, and took just one moment to allow our focus to settle on the more substantial aspects of our existence?

What if, for even one day, we consciously made an effort to actually be what we believe ourselves to be? Compassionate. Intrinsically good-natured. Grateful for our freedoms — which so many men and women have bravely laid down their lives to provide for the rest of us…

Click, death. Click, death.

Every single second, people are losing this very opportunity to take a pause from the rat race and truly embrace the things held dear. What will it take for us to utilize each precious moment we are given?

Today is an important day. It’s a gift that wasn’t given to many, many others. Take advantage of the air in your lungs, the shoes on your feet, the loved ones still hanging around on planet earth. Go see them. Tell them what makes them important to you. Express your gratitude to the Maker above that you woke up this morning, and commit yourself to making this day matter somehow.

Even if it’s something as small as holding the door for a stranger; you have the power to change the world. All it takes is one gesture of kindness, and your intentions (once acted upon) become a thread of goodness, woven into the master fabric of our collective existence.

I believe in the goodness of humankind. Do you?