Edit: I especially love the part the part about tears disturbing what needs to be disturbed. When I grieve, it always feels like a deepening of my humanity, another little layer of dissociation from our pain, peeled back. It’s the pain being in the world, and it’s also an act of protest: we can and must do better! That’s a hard reality for some to face. It requires an expansion of responsibility, but also the promise of reconnection— to ourselves, each other, the planet. Isn’t all grief really about a lost connection of some sort?
And I don’t think anyone really moves through that until the pain of not doing it outweighs the pain of doing it. But we also need stories about who we really are and what our role is as human beings to allow that grief through, too. It’s hard to mourn something you’ve been told isn’t real, or doesn’t matter, as so many of us have been.
Finding someone you can grieve with is such a beautiful gift. Sometimes it requires witness. And we need those tears more than ever.
Thanks for carving out a little space here in the courtyard to affirm what we know. Grief is our strength— let’s never apologize for our strength, the strength to face truth, hurt, to love. Our world needs strength now more than ever! I’m going to commit to not apologizing for my grief ever again. If I disturb others in doing so, it’s a gift they need. I’d be depriving both of us of the opportunity to really see strength and tenderness as intimately intertwined.
Thanks James for such a thoughtful and generous offering to the conversation. "But we also need stories about who we really are and what our role is as human beings to allow that grief through." YES. Great inspo for another piece someday...
Such a sweet leading of the aliveness and joy and healing that comes through grief and tears. Inspiring poem, Andrew. Makes me wanna to access a little more pride and carry my shoulders a little higher when I’m talking about the big feels.
This is so true. I remember growing up in a culture of “boys don’t cry” and suppressing tears, fearful there was something wrong with me. Don’t be a crybaby. What would others think? Our family would be judged by the expression of my and my brother’s emotion. Then to see my father cry at times, so apologetically, hiding his face, exposing what was communicated to us as his weakness, when in fact it was just the opposite. It was so confusing, the tears of healing , relief, and joy labeled as wrong. Goodness. How limiting it was to feel guilty over something that felt so good. There was a time in my youth when only my dog understood me, would accept without judgement the flow that emanated from deep inside. I would seek her out, and she loved the attention as I buried my face into her neck and sobbed in secret. Thank you, Andrew, for the opportunity to revisit this, note the progress made over the years and feel the happiness produced when we re-examine our conditioning.
Ahhhhhh-it seems so obvious and logical when you speak all this, Andrew. Thank you thank you thank you.
I consider myself a very generous contributor of tears to the planet. ;)
This is literal life giving truth, Andrew. Thank you.
Beautiful, Andrew. Thank you.
Edit: I especially love the part the part about tears disturbing what needs to be disturbed. When I grieve, it always feels like a deepening of my humanity, another little layer of dissociation from our pain, peeled back. It’s the pain being in the world, and it’s also an act of protest: we can and must do better! That’s a hard reality for some to face. It requires an expansion of responsibility, but also the promise of reconnection— to ourselves, each other, the planet. Isn’t all grief really about a lost connection of some sort?
And I don’t think anyone really moves through that until the pain of not doing it outweighs the pain of doing it. But we also need stories about who we really are and what our role is as human beings to allow that grief through, too. It’s hard to mourn something you’ve been told isn’t real, or doesn’t matter, as so many of us have been.
Finding someone you can grieve with is such a beautiful gift. Sometimes it requires witness. And we need those tears more than ever.
Thanks for carving out a little space here in the courtyard to affirm what we know. Grief is our strength— let’s never apologize for our strength, the strength to face truth, hurt, to love. Our world needs strength now more than ever! I’m going to commit to not apologizing for my grief ever again. If I disturb others in doing so, it’s a gift they need. I’d be depriving both of us of the opportunity to really see strength and tenderness as intimately intertwined.
Thanks James for such a thoughtful and generous offering to the conversation. "But we also need stories about who we really are and what our role is as human beings to allow that grief through." YES. Great inspo for another piece someday...
Love this Andrew… ❤️
YES!
Thank you for birthing this.
What a gorgeous offering... teaching, sharing, praying to be with.
With you. Crying. Loving. Vibing.
xo
“You are resuscitating the vibe.
..Maybe we will cry with you.
What a treasure that would be.”
Such a sweet leading of the aliveness and joy and healing that comes through grief and tears. Inspiring poem, Andrew. Makes me wanna to access a little more pride and carry my shoulders a little higher when I’m talking about the big feels.
Always love knowing you're here, Jonathan, and being in the big conversation with you.
This is so true. I remember growing up in a culture of “boys don’t cry” and suppressing tears, fearful there was something wrong with me. Don’t be a crybaby. What would others think? Our family would be judged by the expression of my and my brother’s emotion. Then to see my father cry at times, so apologetically, hiding his face, exposing what was communicated to us as his weakness, when in fact it was just the opposite. It was so confusing, the tears of healing , relief, and joy labeled as wrong. Goodness. How limiting it was to feel guilty over something that felt so good. There was a time in my youth when only my dog understood me, would accept without judgement the flow that emanated from deep inside. I would seek her out, and she loved the attention as I buried my face into her neck and sobbed in secret. Thank you, Andrew, for the opportunity to revisit this, note the progress made over the years and feel the happiness produced when we re-examine our conditioning.
These windows into what we've lived are so powerful to gaze into. Transformative. Thanks for making one here, Randy. A glimpse.