So much of living is grief, I’ve found. Grief at the loss of people, places, times we’ve loved. Grief over relationships that are now stilted and strained which once felt unbridled and free. Grief over the not knowing, and sometimes the knowing. Grief over lost faith you once had in people who now are difficult to recognize. Grief everywhere, and it can lead to separation. Pulling away in anticipatory fear of yet more grief. And, that will lead to loneliness.

Perhaps our loneliness epidemic would be eased if we all were to slow down and notice each other, pause to realize we are here for each other,  and be vulnerable enough to allow ourselves to see and be seen.

Perhaps the antidote to grief is attention, not because you will avoid the ultimate loss, but because you will capture the moments now. Cherishing our children while we are here. Nurturing our friendships while we are here. Noticing

Mary Oliver’s poems open us in so many ways– to nature, to each other, to our own hidden places. Perhaps this one on loneliness will speak to you today:

Loneliness

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

~ Mary Oliver ~