Words
I don't know at what point I decided that it would be a good idea to stow a sheaf of already-old lyrics inside the notebook/sketchbook that I kept over two visits to Portugal, or at what point, fairly soon after that I'm sure, that I forgot entirely about having put them there. Earlier this evening was an interesting trip down the proverbial memory
( Read more... )
This one is the most challenging and the most heartfelt prompt of them all. It's raw, and beautiful in its way, and I'm looking forward to approaching it.
All those feelings you describe are familiar to me; I lost my father years ago, when I was only 20, but the loss, the absence, the changing feelings, the inconstant memories, are all simultaneously as surreal and as clear as they were even then, in the first awful and awkward moments. The grief, though, evolves, or transmutes, or something. This line strikes me in particular:
...this real true lack in humanity to adequately or accurately express real grief, and not a projection of what we think grief should be.
Maybe the concept of adequacy is in this instance the projection, and the accuracy of it, or I'd say the simple truth of it, as variable or uncommon as it may be, is our real challenge. And no, though grief is itself a sign or an expression of sadness, the act or process of grieving doesn't have to be sad; quite the contrary. Grief, to paraphrase Emerson (that's a favorite passage, above), can still allow us our idealism.
Reply
Leave a comment