More storms.  My beautiful Boston under siege.  My beautiful daughter absent.  I am remembering what it is to see the wave coming and have my heart stop with fear.  Remember to dive under.  Become the ocean. Let the waves pass.  Open to healing, to possibility, to resolution.

Grief will come to you.

Grip and cling all you want,

It makes no difference.

Catastrophe? It’s just waiting to happen.

Loss? You can be certain of it.

Flow and swirl of the world.

Carried along as if by a dark current.

All you can do is keep swimming;

All you can do is keep singing.

from How Beautiful the Beloved by Gregory Orr

At the performance of Kafka’s Monkey last weekend, at one moment, the woman playing the ape imitating a man looked out at us quietly and said, “Forsaken by the wind, you must use your oars.”  I scribbled that in the margin of my program.

We have recently been forsaken by the warm, lovely wind of our youngest daughter.  She has run away – from college, from family, friends, home.  This is a child that we have both dared to love without limit.  We are scorched, shattered, aching.

So my question is,”When left high  and dry, what good are oars?”  Looking at this image, I would answer myself, “Find water.  Push into deeper seas.”  My Sedona Releasing friends would say, “Dive under the wave, even if it is a tsunami of grief.  Become the ocean.”  And that, I can say, is far easier said and imagined than actually done.