I’ve spent the last day and a half searching for the words to describe what I’m feeling. I sat staring at my journal page with pen in hand, and finally, after at-least 15 minutes I scribbled, “I don’t really know what I want to write about.”
I sat in perfectly-timed silence today, post-yoga, on a red meditation cushion. I sat with eyes closed as the sun peeked through my dirty basement windows, that I couldn’t even notice at the moment. It warmed face, my heart, my soul. It felt like sun-tinged freedom – open and yellow. I prayed. I prayed and asked God that we be better coming out of this than we were going into it. I asked for balance to be restored. I gave thanks for the many gifts strewn about this mess.
It is grief that I am feeling. Under the craving for all the sweets and wanting of all the wine – it is grief.
I am grieving for the world. I am grieving for the grandparents who will spend their first Easter without their spouse away from family, for the seniors who’s last year got torn away from them without warning. The fear, I’m grieving for the those who go to work everyday afraid they may come home with it and for those who have it, afraid of who they’ve given it to. I’m grieving lost birthdays, funerals, children who can’t play with their friends. My heart aches for people worried about their businesses, their income, and their future. Andrea Day’s Rise Up plays on repeat and the tears pour down my face. I send love to those who rely on groups of people to stay sober, stay safe, stay connected to God; I grieve their loss of community. I want so badly to make sure my neighbors, my friends, my family have what they need and know they are not alone. I’m crying for lives lost, young and old, some virus-related, some not. I worry for people’s mental health.
So many people are on my heart right now – friends, acquaintances, family, strangers.