What has been

As previously blogged, the “what has been” is significant to our understanding of ourselves and our present pathways. Closure is a necessity for both mental and emotional progress. Having the ability to come to grips with the “what has been” of life is a restorative process of health and healing to the actual physicality of who we are as holistic individuals. The angst of “the unresolved” is brutal to our existence. Is it possible in every circumstance to obtain that resolve? Unfortunately, we all know the answer to that question. However, be assured, the body is designed for resolve and it is on a quest to heal our hurts, there is something powerful in that fact. The body actually emotes along with the seasons of our lives. Allowing that process is vital in regard to our ability to thrive in both emotional and physical health. Grieving is a process that is indwelt in the container of our humanity. It must be attended and honored for the “what has been” to be productive for the next season of our life.

I wrote the following piece many years ago, in a specific season of grief. If you have been or are going through the process of grief, I think this imagery might be healing to your heart.

Tending to my Grief

By: Rhonda Woody 12/11

I feel like a part of me has died.  There have been no eulogies, no comforters dressed in black, and no fragrant floral arrangements to lace a well dressed coffin.  There is no body to lie in state, no freshly unearthed soil and no motorcade of final transport yet the reality contained within this grief confirms with assured certainty, there has been a death.  

How do I speak to this grieving one?  What sort of motion could reach her soul?  Nothing but stillness seems to be right so I wait like a tender leaflet floating gently upon a tranquil pond.  The silence is both deafening and prolonged.   This hushed monotony disrupted only briefly by seasons of violent sobs, her visceral eruptions come and go shadowed closely by denial and its resounding aftershocks. I stand nearby, present but not encroaching.

The yearly calendar has no space allotted for this period of time.  The hours and days consistently tick away while the voice of demand just keeps calling her name.   It rings and rings and rings and yet her lifeless limbs cannot move, even to embrace the receiver.   For now, life must wait and demand must be denied.  

Her consolations are few and most words appear to be nothing more than mere background noise.  I believe that the only word to be hearkened these days is that of the flesh who has come to dwell among us.  So, I beckon this babe once cradled in arms to come, to come and faithfully lull her to sleep. 

As day turns into night, I find myself peering aimlessly out into the sky, a scene void of both color and vision.  Is this a window or is it just a mirror reflecting the grief bound up in the heart of its mistress?   

Each morning I awaken with hope, praying that day break will live up to its name.  As a farmer rises early to tend to the soil, I too arise to nurture a creature, a creature formed of the dirt.   The signs of life are buried deep, but the times and the seasons have proven faithful and true.  “Send the rain, oh God and luminous beams of light”, I breathe this prayer in earnest, for I know that these gifts come only from above.  


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