What is
grief anyway, that perplexing swirl of feelings after a major change?  The shift in viewpoint so suddenly that you
lose your footing, the ground shakes beneath your feet, and the deepest faith
and path you were on suddenly seems to disappear.  There’s a shock in a split second and I’m on
a road without any orientation to where I’ve been or where I am or where I’m
going–or why.  My compass has lost true
north. 

Grief is a
remix, reset button that lasts a long time between software upgrades or new
operating systems.  Sometimes what used
to work so familiarly now is hard to even get going or find the right button or
the right code or the right way to sit, or wondering why the hell you go on any
more at all. 

I eat and
I’m not fulfilled, I drink and it’s stupid–not even quenching my thirst; there
is such a deep dissatisfaction.

So I sit on
the beach and watch the rocks so steady and patient.  They don’t fuss when they get polished though
it takes thousands of years.  They never
complain when they are sanded down, walked upon, moved against, tumbled, thrown
and lost.  They are never lost.

I know the
past is someplace, somewhere, something, and I feel the faith of eternality,
but where does that leave me?  I pray to
sit so still and listen for the wisdom as the scrub brush bends and gently
waves at the clouds coming in.