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Grief

Flemming, Denmark

I always wonder if a picture can convey the infinite layers held inside a person. Here the sunlight from the happiest fields I’ve ever seen. Here the grief of the world which touches my own grief and flows back out again into the woven lines of sorrow and rage crisscrossing through the world. My own small yet still surviving hope for an emerging freedom for myself. The voices that tell me this freedom too will reverberate back out into the world. (Does this gift or curse of being able to touch the fabric of the world truly go both ways?) This hope, this love, this grief, this fear.

Grief asks us to lay ourselves bodily before it and let it flow through us, unchecked, unhindered, uncontrolled. Grief asks us to learn that all griefs are part of the same cloth. When our sisters grieve, we too must lay our bodies before it without turning away. Only then can we heal. Only then can we heal the deepest of untold griefs. Behind the deepest grief lie the lies we’ve been told about how we have to be in this world to survive. And then there is the field and the sunlight. The church I’ll meander over to watch being white-washed. And then there is the grief and the fear. The helpless rage. The children killed. It’s all here woven together. Can we hold it? Are we brave enough to hold it all without turning away?