{as the rain falls}


(image source)


listening to the wind and the rain this morning made me think of you

the wind whipped through the trees as a presence moved through my heart

as the rain came down and landed i noticed the sounds

tickles of droplets hitting grass

pings of wetness plopping against tin

splatters against the wood

moving drops carried on the wind to hit the trees

depending on where the drops landed they sounded different

isn’t that the way grief is?

different for each of us

different for how it falls and where it lands

who can judge the rain that falls?

who can judge how it falls, whether thin quick sheets or hard fast slanted streaks of power?

and where it lands is no one’s call either

it lands where it lands

it falls how it falls

it is what it is

you are more than the rain

your grief exponentially more

and the lack of judging for it ought also to be mounting and rampant

why so harsh on the downtrodden?

is the view from up there so distorted one cannot imagine it down here?

what about treating others as we would like to be treated?

putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes?

why does that not count when we are the one judging

yet it counts as an epidemic when we are the ones grieving in wastelands of tears

how can we allow ourselves to enter the pain of another?

to go there, knowing there will be a cost

how can we continue to walk away from the wounded?

to simply disregard because it is just too much so we label it something else altogether to assuage our own hearts

we are all on the same planet

we all experience grief at one time or another

we cannot compare yet we are so much the same

what one endures cannot be lined up against another’s world

yet sometimes we know the interior of another’s chasms so well we choke on our words

we often run away

let us learn to lean in, to sit with, to speak into, to love those drowning in grief

for one day we will find ourselves there too

{Hope Wood Β© 2014}