I entered my journey and I asked to be shown what I need.
The Grieving Tree appeared in my landscape, a new addition.
Like a prayer tree, little tags and ribbons tied onto branches in rich colors, more cheerful than one might imagine for the name, though grief is in essence the loss of all those bright beautiful things swaying gently in the breeze.
This is the place they are put to be honored and held.
Maybe I need this so they don’t feel really lost, not entirely.
Maybe I need a place I can show up and drop to my knees and allow the griefs to weave in and out of each other, parts of a whole.
Maybe I need a guardian I trust to hold all that weight for me, though they don’t look so heavy draped from her arms, these emotional ornaments I don’t want to hang but have nowhere else to place.
I’ve tried putting them in my pockets and there’s just not enough room.
I’ve tried refusing to pick them up at all, pretending they belong to someone else.
I’ve tried hiding them hurriedly in obvious places as they carelessly accumulate dirt and dust and fingerprints that expose me.
I’ve tried tearing them up as if I could deconstruct them small enough to not exist.
I’ve tried dressing them up as other things and seeing if other trees will take them instead.
So I do need this.
I need to stand before them and let my eyes fill and my head bow.
I need to say thank you to this Grieving Tree for holding what my heart cannot stand all at once.
I need to come here when I don’t know where else to go.
I am learning that with each tag and ribbon hung, I become.
I will never be who I was before each and every one.
With each one, the sorrow expands the breadth of my capacity to love, feel, and understand.
I see the shades and shadows alongside the light, becoming both more human and more spirit at the same time.
I feel a prayer emerge softly, I offer for all of us:
May we stay open in our pain.
May we honor what has come and gone.
May we allow it to deepen our hearts and our humanity.
May we find peace in our path of becoming.
