Hello Dear Friends,
Today I read the piece below, by poet Jan Richardson, to our hospice team. Though the poem is written as a comfort to those who have experienced a great loss, usually of a loved one, to my knowledge no one in our meeting was so bereft. Yet this poem for me speaks not only to the life-pivoting loss we each must come to know at the death of someone we care deeply for or even hinged our existence upon, but also to those many small daily losses - those that can, without our knowing, pile themselves upon us. Paper-thin layers of grief and emptiness, hopelessness and despair - at times so tiny we may not even notice them falling or may think them nothing. . . and yet, when we dip in to our own chests or bellies - - or realize we are avoiding doing so - - we may find that the weight there has left us unable to breathe, alone or starving in ways we feel we cannot bear. If this could be you, or someone you know, have a read of this gentle yet sturdy poem; see if it might reconnect you to something useful, something personally Heartful. . . Here you go: Blessing the House of the Heart If you could see the way this blessing has inscribed itself on every wall of your heart, writing its shining line across every doorway, tracing the edge of every window and table and hall-- if you could see this, you would never question where home is or whether it has a welcome for you. This blessing wishes to give you a glimpse. It will not tell you it has been waiting. It will not tell you it has been keeping watch. It would not want you to know just how long it has been holding this quiet vigil for you. It simply wants you to see what it sees, wants you to know what it knows-- how this blessing already blazes in you, illuminating every corner of your broken and beautiful heart. —Jan Richardson from The Cure for Sorrow
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Rev. Maya Massar Archives
September 2023
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