Joy can shine through
Dear journal,
I was writing my friend N., who’s become a wonderful correspondent for me. In our conversation I wrote: ***I like the idea of grief containing joy, and joy containing grief. In general, these kinds of “dialectics” work for me — as in each “opposite” kind of needs each other. I mean, definitionally, in terms of our understanding of the concept of each. But also in terms of our direct experience of each, though for me that’s certainly trickier. But I guess it gets at what I notice with my really big cries, like when I just let myself sob, and even vocalize it, if it wants to. Somehow this deepens the emotion for me, the vocalizing of it. It feels initially strange, but then also very familiar.
Yesterday, I was getting an acupunture treatment at a hospital, in my own little curtained off space of a larger room. During the treatment, I heard a young kiddo start to cry somewhere nearby. Sounded like maybe a toddler. First a quiet cry, gently pleading, but then growing into a loud wailing. I suppose this is our inborn intuitive way of expressing sadness, or upset, by also vocalizing it, with that waaahhhh. And it seems for me now that only when I can really let go and let that sadness or grief be as big as it needs to be, then I discover and can actually feel inside of it a lightness, a relief, like something shining through. Something we might call joy.
... I think I’m coming to an understanding that I expect a lot of people, and of life, I suppose. [Or maybe I don't expect a lot, but instead there's a stigmatising of expectation inside -- but what could be more natural??!] Expectation of people I know and care about, but also of the person walking too slow in front of me, or the nurse not being as gentle as I would like. So then, it’s not uncommon for me to feel let down. A kind of everyday grief I guess. And it’s not really my fault exactly, there’s valid reasons I’m sure. And it’s not really the fault of others—-except when it is. But oftentimes they’re just being themselves.***
Also, the forgiveness practice that I did this morning felt very relevant to all of this, and deep. I think being able to deepen the forgiveness would be fruitful. Not forcing anything, just inviting. And then see what shows up. Also working with forgiving the cancer. Forgiving the tumors. It feels like a lot of healing to be had here, and I owe gratitude to Stephen Levine's work on this.
I was writing my friend N., who’s become a wonderful correspondent for me. In our conversation I wrote: ***I like the idea of grief containing joy, and joy containing grief. In general, these kinds of “dialectics” work for me — as in each “opposite” kind of needs each other. I mean, definitionally, in terms of our understanding of the concept of each. But also in terms of our direct experience of each, though for me that’s certainly trickier. But I guess it gets at what I notice with my really big cries, like when I just let myself sob, and even vocalize it, if it wants to. Somehow this deepens the emotion for me, the vocalizing of it. It feels initially strange, but then also very familiar.
Yesterday, I was getting an acupunture treatment at a hospital, in my own little curtained off space of a larger room. During the treatment, I heard a young kiddo start to cry somewhere nearby. Sounded like maybe a toddler. First a quiet cry, gently pleading, but then growing into a loud wailing. I suppose this is our inborn intuitive way of expressing sadness, or upset, by also vocalizing it, with that waaahhhh. And it seems for me now that only when I can really let go and let that sadness or grief be as big as it needs to be, then I discover and can actually feel inside of it a lightness, a relief, like something shining through. Something we might call joy.
... I think I’m coming to an understanding that I expect a lot of people, and of life, I suppose. [Or maybe I don't expect a lot, but instead there's a stigmatising of expectation inside -- but what could be more natural??!] Expectation of people I know and care about, but also of the person walking too slow in front of me, or the nurse not being as gentle as I would like. So then, it’s not uncommon for me to feel let down. A kind of everyday grief I guess. And it’s not really my fault exactly, there’s valid reasons I’m sure. And it’s not really the fault of others—-except when it is. But oftentimes they’re just being themselves.***
Also, the forgiveness practice that I did this morning felt very relevant to all of this, and deep. I think being able to deepen the forgiveness would be fruitful. Not forcing anything, just inviting. And then see what shows up. Also working with forgiving the cancer. Forgiving the tumors. It feels like a lot of healing to be had here, and I owe gratitude to Stephen Levine's work on this.
