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The Shell
An open sandy shell
on
the beach
empty but beautiful
like a memory
of a protected previous
self.
The most difficult griefs
ones in which
we slowly open
to a
larger sea, a grander
sweep that washes
all our elements
apart.
on
the beach
empty but beautiful
like a memory
of a protected previous
self.
The most difficult griefs
ones in which
we slowly open
to a
larger sea, a grander
sweep that washes
all our elements
apart.
So strange the way
we are
larger
in grief
than we imagined
we deserved or could claim
and when
loss floods
into us
like the long darkness it is
and the old nurtured
hope
is drowned again
even stranger then
at the edge of the sea
to
feel the hand of the wind
laid on our shoulder
reminding us
how death
grants
a fierce and fallen freedom
away from the prison
of a
constant
and continued presence,
how in the end
those who have left
us
we are
larger
in grief
than we imagined
we deserved or could claim
and when
loss floods
into us
like the long darkness it is
and the old nurtured
hope
is drowned again
even stranger then
at the edge of the sea
to
feel the hand of the wind
laid on our shoulder
reminding us
how death
grants
a fierce and fallen freedom
away from the prison
of a
constant
and continued presence,
how in the end
those who have left
us
might no longer need
us
with all our tears
and our much needed
measures of loss
and that
their own death
is as personal
and private
as that life of
theirs
which you never really knew,
and another disturbing thing,
that
exultation
is possible
without them.
us
with all our tears
and our much needed
measures of loss
and that
their own death
is as personal
and private
as that life of
theirs
which you never really knew,
and another disturbing thing,
that
exultation
is possible
without them.
And they for
themselves
in fact
are glad to have let go
of all the stasis
and the
enclosure
and the need for them to live
like some prisoner
that you
only wanted
to remain incurious
and happy in your love
never looking
for the key
never wanting to
turn the lock and walk
away
like the
wind
unneedful of you,
ungovernable,
unnamable,
free.
themselves
in fact
are glad to have let go
of all the stasis
and the
enclosure
and the need for them to live
like some prisoner
that you
only wanted
to remain incurious
and happy in your love
never looking
for the key
never wanting to
turn the lock and walk
away
like the
wind
unneedful of you,
ungovernable,
unnamable,
free.
~ David Whyte ~
(Everything is Waiting for
You)
You)