So beautiful, what a gift to encounter each other for the first time in so long in that energy at Upaya with Wendy's dharma talk still pulsing 🙏
Poetry, the writing of it, the experiencing of it has been on my mind a lot this week as I lean into writing poems to accompany photographs of life's memories. Chodo Campbell Sensei began a substack called The Dharma of Poetry this week, what timing, and I love this quote from him in his first piece titled "Notes on Grieving:"
"In Zen practice, we speak of bearing witness, or allowing things to be exactly as they are without turning away. Poems can help us do this. They don’t ask us to fix our grief or move beyond it. They sit beside us. They speak in a language that is closer to the heart than to the intellect."
I find myself drawn again and again back to poetry as a personal practice as I walk these inconsolable halls of my own memories and as I walk beside by best friend who received a terminal cancer diagnosis late last year. There is something within the silence that becomes essential to give voice to sometimes, but it can't be rushed. As much as I would often still love to find the words sooner...
A reading for the heart. Thank you. It went straight there, deep, soft and warm and gentle. Interesting to see the glasses in the case. I kept my father’s glasses, took them with me after he passed away. There is so much of him in the case, with the glasses …
I cannot express how beautiful this is - I am a believer in the laws of quantum physics where they relate to time: it backs up on itself, coils backwards, moves forward, and is never linear. Those glasses, you climbing the tree, but most of all meeting your chlldhood babysitter: they are evidence of the spaces created by linear time slamming shut. And grief: don't get me started, or I will not stop. PS: Wendy's book is sitting next to me as I write this.
My heart feels so tender reading your stories. They always land in a way that opens me more deeply to the beauty and humanity in all of us. I loved reading about your incredible reunion, it touched me deeply. What a beautiful world we get to experience through your lens. Thank you for sharing it with us. ❤️
Recently, I’ve doubted whether an accountability partner I had, in what feels like another lifetime, would even want to stay in touch. But I reached out anyway, and was able to support her in a very rough time.
Following our hearts is always the proper response.
So touched by this post, Elena. During meditation this morning, I noticed how much I try to twist and swerve around sadness ... with distractions. Especially with such epic loss on our planet and with all of our living beings. And how the gentle attention and recognition of the "inconsolable" is like a gentle massage of my soul. I, too, in my late 50's and circling back to my many early loves and relationships and it is so gratifying--love this sweet story of your reuniting. I had a pair of glasses at age 6 EXACTLY like yours! Bless all the little treasures of our former selves and the weaving together of the complex fabric that is us. Thank you for the gift of your writing.
It's me Ellen. Actually, I'm not sure Substack is letting me comment as myself or Eve. How fitting. So much thank you to you and James for the gracious welcome into your home, your hearts. What a gift to share about what feels most true in my work and in my life about grief, loss, heartbreak, sorrows of all kinds. Even what is inconsolable, Elena. Even this. And also all the unexpected joy that arises, right? So grateful to be with you right here. In the long loving gazes, in the can't turn our eyes away from each other moments. How precious. The tenderness and sweetness in our reminiscing and catching each other up...what a holy homecoming. Thank you can't possibly be a strong enough phrase. I look forward to our unfolding. More soon.
In recent years I reconnected with my cousin Linda. Just last month she died in a house fire. Everyone was horrified, but I saw it as typical “Linda”. She lived her life in a large way. She created her own business, retired at 58, had 3 husbands, sailed from Michigan through the Great Lakes, down the east coast to the islands, and so much more. At her funeral we spoke of living life to the fullest. Hers was not without pain and tragedy, but she never gave up planning that next great trip. As I sit with thoughts of her, “listen to Linda” comes to mind. As I approach 80, I am only beginning to allow my thoughts to settle. I am learning to sift through each one like those old fashioned beach sifters with a screen. Thanks for your post. I am sitting with Linda for a bit. She went out in a blaze of glory.
In reading this I couldn't help but think of the song, "Inconsolable" by Katie Gavin. Great song.
But you dig in here to more than that song even does. "No words to offer, just space, time, emptiness, a trustworthy presence. And this, for some reason, is comforting. I cannot fix it."
Gosh, the people who knew us when are the best at just sitting in it with us, right? The serendipity of this reunion and where it brought both of you back to is magical.
Love this story! Once when I was teaching yoga (in my 50s) a somewhat younger woman came in who looked vaguely familiar. When she wrote her name on the check in sheet, I realized she was one of my children's babysitters when she was about 14 or 15. She and her sister went with us on a week-long vacation one year which was fun for everyone. She was in town for a short visit and wanted to go to yoga - and wasn't expecting to see me either. It was lovely to catch up for a few minutes and see what a lovely person she had continued to become. The occasion also allowed me to reminisce later about some precious times with my own children. What a gift.
How beautiful that you circled back to each other, unknowingly. How beautiful that you were brought back to thise tender early years, which are so precious, beyond words. How sweet you have your first glasses to remind you of you as a little girl. The reunion...a gift. Thank you for sharing
So beautiful, what a gift to encounter each other for the first time in so long in that energy at Upaya with Wendy's dharma talk still pulsing 🙏
Poetry, the writing of it, the experiencing of it has been on my mind a lot this week as I lean into writing poems to accompany photographs of life's memories. Chodo Campbell Sensei began a substack called The Dharma of Poetry this week, what timing, and I love this quote from him in his first piece titled "Notes on Grieving:"
"In Zen practice, we speak of bearing witness, or allowing things to be exactly as they are without turning away. Poems can help us do this. They don’t ask us to fix our grief or move beyond it. They sit beside us. They speak in a language that is closer to the heart than to the intellect."
(full article: https://substack.com/home/post/p-193732320)
I find myself drawn again and again back to poetry as a personal practice as I walk these inconsolable halls of my own memories and as I walk beside by best friend who received a terminal cancer diagnosis late last year. There is something within the silence that becomes essential to give voice to sometimes, but it can't be rushed. As much as I would often still love to find the words sooner...
A reading for the heart. Thank you. It went straight there, deep, soft and warm and gentle. Interesting to see the glasses in the case. I kept my father’s glasses, took them with me after he passed away. There is so much of him in the case, with the glasses …
I cannot express how beautiful this is - I am a believer in the laws of quantum physics where they relate to time: it backs up on itself, coils backwards, moves forward, and is never linear. Those glasses, you climbing the tree, but most of all meeting your chlldhood babysitter: they are evidence of the spaces created by linear time slamming shut. And grief: don't get me started, or I will not stop. PS: Wendy's book is sitting next to me as I write this.
My heart feels so tender reading your stories. They always land in a way that opens me more deeply to the beauty and humanity in all of us. I loved reading about your incredible reunion, it touched me deeply. What a beautiful world we get to experience through your lens. Thank you for sharing it with us. ❤️
You are so sweet hugging that tree, nothing changes yet everything does. XX
Thank you for the peaceful lovely share, Elena.
Recently, I’ve doubted whether an accountability partner I had, in what feels like another lifetime, would even want to stay in touch. But I reached out anyway, and was able to support her in a very rough time.
Following our hearts is always the proper response.
Continuous love! I remember little you for all this time. Onward in love
🙏 Eve
So touched by this post, Elena. During meditation this morning, I noticed how much I try to twist and swerve around sadness ... with distractions. Especially with such epic loss on our planet and with all of our living beings. And how the gentle attention and recognition of the "inconsolable" is like a gentle massage of my soul. I, too, in my late 50's and circling back to my many early loves and relationships and it is so gratifying--love this sweet story of your reuniting. I had a pair of glasses at age 6 EXACTLY like yours! Bless all the little treasures of our former selves and the weaving together of the complex fabric that is us. Thank you for the gift of your writing.
It's me Ellen. Actually, I'm not sure Substack is letting me comment as myself or Eve. How fitting. So much thank you to you and James for the gracious welcome into your home, your hearts. What a gift to share about what feels most true in my work and in my life about grief, loss, heartbreak, sorrows of all kinds. Even what is inconsolable, Elena. Even this. And also all the unexpected joy that arises, right? So grateful to be with you right here. In the long loving gazes, in the can't turn our eyes away from each other moments. How precious. The tenderness and sweetness in our reminiscing and catching each other up...what a holy homecoming. Thank you can't possibly be a strong enough phrase. I look forward to our unfolding. More soon.
In recent years I reconnected with my cousin Linda. Just last month she died in a house fire. Everyone was horrified, but I saw it as typical “Linda”. She lived her life in a large way. She created her own business, retired at 58, had 3 husbands, sailed from Michigan through the Great Lakes, down the east coast to the islands, and so much more. At her funeral we spoke of living life to the fullest. Hers was not without pain and tragedy, but she never gave up planning that next great trip. As I sit with thoughts of her, “listen to Linda” comes to mind. As I approach 80, I am only beginning to allow my thoughts to settle. I am learning to sift through each one like those old fashioned beach sifters with a screen. Thanks for your post. I am sitting with Linda for a bit. She went out in a blaze of glory.
In reading this I couldn't help but think of the song, "Inconsolable" by Katie Gavin. Great song.
But you dig in here to more than that song even does. "No words to offer, just space, time, emptiness, a trustworthy presence. And this, for some reason, is comforting. I cannot fix it."
Gosh, the people who knew us when are the best at just sitting in it with us, right? The serendipity of this reunion and where it brought both of you back to is magical.
xoxoxo
Love this story! Once when I was teaching yoga (in my 50s) a somewhat younger woman came in who looked vaguely familiar. When she wrote her name on the check in sheet, I realized she was one of my children's babysitters when she was about 14 or 15. She and her sister went with us on a week-long vacation one year which was fun for everyone. She was in town for a short visit and wanted to go to yoga - and wasn't expecting to see me either. It was lovely to catch up for a few minutes and see what a lovely person she had continued to become. The occasion also allowed me to reminisce later about some precious times with my own children. What a gift.
🙏❤️‼️
How beautiful that you circled back to each other, unknowingly. How beautiful that you were brought back to thise tender early years, which are so precious, beyond words. How sweet you have your first glasses to remind you of you as a little girl. The reunion...a gift. Thank you for sharing
oh my goodness what a profound and glorious reunion 💕
Thank you