The anger of grief doesn’t always materialize as anger about the loss itself. Sometimes it materializes as anger at everything else. Anger at the person who’s carefree on the train. Anger at the person who thinks money is important. Anger at the woman who doesn’t love herself and thinks she needs someone else to do so. Anger at the man who doesn't love himself and objectifies sexuality as a matter of course. Anger at the person who won’t wake up and see the world for what it is: a place of miracles, of unseen magic, of alchemy and constant transformation.
Then the loss descends, and all those thoughts of anger tumble into an amalgamation of WHY. Why has the loss been incurred? Why another one? Why can’t I have peace? When will I have peace again?
Then the realization: there is peace in this very thing, the loss at hand. There is peace in it. There is peace in putting down the sword and feeling, fully, with breath and humility. There is deep peace in saying yes, even to this unthinkable moment.
The anger is a reminder of the yes; the breath as it flows through the energy field carries that reminder to the heart.
The depression is humility’s reminder: I know nothing, and I have everything.
The denial is the spirit’s protector, its warm blanket, its chicken noodle soup, its compassion and empathy.
The bargaining is hope.
The acceptance is what remains when the fighting is done, when attack is put to rest, when asking for help becomes a practice, when pain is recognized as another form of love.
