Wintering 6 | From the Archive
First published January 9, 2017
It’s a Wednesday in January and a repost from the archive for you to enjoy! I read this one aloud to my husband when I came across it the other day, and we both cried.
When the place beneath you gets hard, the smooth ground breaks into rugged, and the incline burns. When all the fortitude turns flimsy, the grasping doesn't hold, and there's nothing left but to stop, hang on, and cry.
When the minutes, and then the hours slip away, with not one thing accomplished through the blurry vision; salty rivers sabotaging the day. And you feel like you must get a grip, for Pete's sake, look at this day wasting away, and those plans sitting still. Because tears just run, and are gone, a soaked disappearing, a whole lot of something becoming absolutely nothing.
Then he looks at you across the room, in that gentle way he does, and he says this: Maybe the tears are the most important thing you could have done today. Maybe, today, they are your best work; deep work, hard and beautiful work, watermarked on a plan we cannot see.
Loves? Honor where you are today. And know that, perhaps, the greatest accomplishment is not when you finish crying, but when you begin.
I felt tears welling up inside as I read your post in the quiet early morning hours -- such an intimate time.
How you experience and share your vulnerability here with all of us is beautiful.
Once upon a time, my mother-in-law had a saying. (She was an avid reader so she may have appropriated this from someone else.)
It went like this...”Whenever you share, your joys are doubled and your sorrows halved.”
Thank you for sharing, Carmella.
Namaste,
Birnie
Carmella,
The tears cried an many of rivers., love how your words perfectly hit home for me.
Thank you,
P.S.
Remember that Beautiful throw you were working on, So love it.