Yet I am catching a whiff of something that will add profundity to our course.
Perhaps we will weep for those who are forgotten between now and 300 years. Weep to remember them. Weep to bring them forth as carers and tenders of humanicity across these three centuries. Remember ourselves as able to care and tend our own part in humanicity.
Perhaps we will weave a story we can then slip into, comfortable slippers and a warm robe for this winter’s eve. Clothing which makes the person, makes us, makes the people. A story we live up to.
It is more than grief. Or rather beyond grief. Grief grows us. Hollows us out, makes us resonant. Each time the echo comes back. Back to catch us again. Back to give us something new to hear. Back to have us see something new. Back to take away words. Back to know the stitches.
It is pondering. Reflecting. Resonating. Grief slows us. Illness slows us. Loss slows us. This is one place hope is a disservice: it wants us to pick up, carry on, regain speed. Some growing parts of in life need steeping, composting, dark.
So when we reflect on those in the between times, we reflect on what they need, what those who come later want. We bring both dark and light, and the shadows, the shadows that tell us the depth of what we want it to mean to be human. The shadows that show us the breadth of our differences. The shadows that show the fluttering quivering nuances of where we want to be heading.
These to ponder.
:- Doug.
