
Grief is the noblest of emotions because it strips away illusions. It’s also the most compassionate. More than once I’ve thought, “Isn’t happiness selfish when so many are suffering?” Who am I to smile at a cloud when my neighbor’s dying of cancer? Grief reveals that even the beautiful blue sky is an insult to the millions of mourners beneath it.
By Jack Varden
Dedicated to everyone who has lost, or will lose, someone.
When did life become all about grief?
The losses pile up as the years roll on, transforming me into a pile of wounds. Sometimes it’s hard loving when you know that it’s going to end. Wouldn’t it be better to keep the world at a distance? Aloof, but not conceited. Compassionate, but not invested.
Painless. Unshackled. Drab. Deranged.
To hell with equanimity. There’s no after life. No rebirth. Just this. I’m not going to sit life out just because it hurts.
I’m going to hurt. I’m going to weep, moan and bleed. I’m going to trace my fingers along new wrinkles and wonder where the time went because that’s what it means to be human in an inhuman universe.
Doleo ergo sum: I grieve, therefore, I am.
It presses through me, worrying a hole straight through my soul—grieving those who’ve gone, and those who will go. Grieving humanity. Melted by tears, I dissolve into forgotten parts of myself and rediscover what it means to care. Eyes closed, breathing through it, I fold myself into a ball and weather the storm of intrusive thoughts.
Sages have no use for tears. They would rather gather dust on their eyes by sitting in caves and temples. They ran from it, choosing a living death over a dying life.
Silly fuckers. Instead of chasing the sun, they could be bathing in moonlight, playing with shadows among the headstones.
From the Upanishads to the Bible, from Buddha to Deepak Chopra, everyone is telling you to change, change, change and you’ll be at peace. Do X and you’ll get Y. Practice patience, selflessness and mindfulness. Think positively. Take responsibility. That’s not a bad idea—I’d definitely like to know who’s responsible for this. Who slammed asteroids into the moon? Who hardwired us for sex and violence?
I’d really like to know because I’ve got some serious questions.
Of course gurus aren’t thinking about any of that when they point you down their path, and when the sages look at the night sky, they only see pinpoints of light. They don’t see the stars. I do. That one there is Deneb, and it’s 3,000 light years away.
3,000 light years away from me and my grief.
Who is it shining for? Me? Ha-ha, I’m nobody. I’m a ghost. I’m nothing but an aperture for feelings and desires. I always feel them deeply, too deep to survive them. Even the good ones ache. With each tide of emotion I’m left trying to piece myself back together.
But grief is good. Charlie Brown said so.
Grief is the noblest of emotions because it strips away illusions. It’s also the most compassionate. More than once I’ve thought, “Isn’t happiness selfish when so many are suffering?” Who am I to smile at a cloud when my neighbor’s dying of cancer? Grief reveals that even the beautiful blue sky is an insult to the millions of mourners beneath it.
How dare the sun shine when so many are carrying such darkness?
That said, I prefer night to day. Nighttime honors our pain by giving us the dignity of darkness. It doesn’t throw the world in your face like daytime does. You can cry safely at night, with your tears shining in candlelight instead of the sun. You can face the Absurd head on, letting grief open your heart to deeper mysteries.
And when the sun does eventually rise, maybe you’ll see that grief is the truest expression of love. To love deeply is to grieve deeply. So, if you love the world, you will mourn the world. If you love life, you will lament life.
So, what of the Stoics and sages? Would you change for them? Be like them? Or will you finally let yourself be, giving voice to whatever passes through?
You don’t have to change. You’re already changing. That’s what you do. Just face it, face whatever appears, and you’ll naturally head in the right direction. Look at the cosmos. Grieve it and it will make room in your broken heart for boundless wonder.
Then maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop feeling like you need to be saved.
Jack Varden is a writer, poet, psychologist, philosopher and Buddhologist from Illinois.
Photo: Pixabay
Were you moved by this post? You may also like:
Comments
- A Lone Rhinoceros at the End of the World - February 17, 2025
- Meeting Myozan Ian Kilroy: Author of Do Not Try to Become a Buddha - February 12, 2025
- Tonglen for LA - January 14, 2025