And on the Seventh Day, We Cried Some More

Grief is a formless void that allows darkness to cover the face of one’s world.

Grief is a thing that does not ever go away completely. At best, it only eases. It cannot be reasoned away. It cannot be directed away. It cannot be superimposed by another thing or being.

Grief is as love is and as faith is: it exists, not as a tangible object, but as a deeply-seeded entity within us that is powerful.

Grief hurts. But like love and faith, it can also move us to places that we’ve not considered going before. These trips with grief as our companion can be painful, but we can find meaning and life in the steps. Further down the road a transformed sense of joy can also be discovered.

Out of a void, water may flow; out of darkness, light may appear.

Grief is intensely personal. One soul cannot take away the burden of grief from another soul. Even though grief must ultimately be battled alone, it is important for a sufferer to know that the extended hand of another is near.

Through evening and morning, from creature to creature, in song to song, one sad soul must never have to mourn alone.

On this seventh day, we will cry some more, for creation seems dim, motionless, and in weary Sabbath. We long for good. We are ready to confront anger, to find reason outside, but truly, the confrontation must begin within ourselves. What is the breath of life that we breathe? What is our image and whose reflection are we?

Long for good, evolve for the sake of good, and allow time for grief.