Leaving and Returning

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Grief isn't empty, though it may feel that way at times. I've learned for me, that grief is very full.

Grief is alive and longs to be heard. Voices rise from the graves via our own voices. It's not just the graves of humans which have died, but our own graves, parts of us we misplaced or were stolen.

It cries out in tears, in rage, in illnesses, in pain, in addictions, in laughter, in art, in every corner of our lives, every rainbow, every storm.

If we only allow grief its substance, to not be afraid of it. If we do that, perhaps we will grow to honor it and welcome it and allow it.

There is always something better. There is always something worse.

There is always more within, within the very heart and soul and body in which we move and dance.

Dancing always brings to mind leaves, as they blow, as they fall, as they nourish, as they grow.

Leaves. I wonder if they are called leaves because every year they leave their tree. 

Perhaps the new spring leaves are returns.

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