- finalize plans,
- order materials,
- plan out all these moveable parts, and
- deal with the unforeseen delays plus new problems,
(Yes, I know it is Friday. I'm a day late!)
Karen Eastland offered today's writing inspiration/prompt - to think about 'what we bind ourselves to' in our spiritual journeys. Check out her thoughtful reflections on this theme, and read the comments for links to other writers and their responses.
This prompt is so expansive...and a bit of a riddle, really.
Yes, my meditation on this theme has taken me in a zillion different directions and left me untethered (pun, yes?).
Ultimately, for this post, I have landed in grief. Let me try to explain -
A short while back, my sister-in-law died unexpectedly; she was very, very dear to my husband and me. She was his baby sister, and, with him being only two years her elder, she was someone who has always been a part of his world. Certainly, she has always been a part of my world with him; she was one of the very first family members I met, when he and I started dating. So, this is one of those tough deaths that feel 'unfair,' 'too soon,' 'more was possible.' It is painful.
I decided to simply hone in on one small sliver of my spiritual understanding of the word "bind," which is to ask -
what anchors me when a loved one dies?
I offer a poem.
as I grieve
This past weekend, I walked the Richmond Slave Trail, a three mile route alongside the James river, from the Manchester Docks to downtown Richmond. It was a spectacular day, sunshine, with temperatures in the 60s - a day to gather together. All along the river, there were many happy people fishing, families and friends of varied ethnicities and skin colors. I couldn't help but feel uplifted.
Except for the history of the place, of course.
Which left me musing about healing...the trauma we inflict on others, how much pain there is in this world and how much pain there has been. Now there are these relentless and horrid scenes from Ukraine - the killing of innocent civilians, the destruction of homes, schools, land, life itself.
Why in the world do we choose cruelty, ever?
How long, how many generations, does it take to get through trauma?
Does one, does a society, ever really get through trauma, with all its insidious future paths?
Does land/place heal faster than people do?
This sad musing led to this poem about my day in Richmond -