Holy Grief

The grief rushes in, as a wave of numbing, crushing, cold despair crashing upon the shoreline of my spirit. Its breakers distract with their frothing, gleaming spray, while the undertow undermines the foundations at my feet. Joy and hope shift like so much sand, pulled out into the vast sea of roiling, storming, Holy Grief and Terror. Despair is tangible. Despair is crushing. It is not mine. It is not mine.

“Hold Fast,” He says, and His presence is soft, thick, good wool wrapped snug around me. We are wet, soaked in this ocean of Grief, but He keeps me warm even as wet wool can manage to do. My spirit wants to shatter under this strain, but He holds me up as the ground underneath me gives way. I think of the other part of the year, when the Holy Grief I bear witness to is not mine, is His. This, too, is not mine, but it’s closer to mine, and He holds it with me, because it is of me.

What is this, that grief is such a burden to bear? That the awareness of grief, of endings, of mortality, of the darkness, is such a factor in my path? Is it my comfort with that place? I believe we are doors, are conduits for the Mysteries to come into the world, and I believe that we as a species – certainly as a culture – too often shy away from the dark, the heavy, the somber, the macabre. We do not speak easily of death, of dying. We avoid. Am I depressed? I do not think that I am. Right now, in this very moment, my moods are in great flux, and I am thus slightly detached, watching them go until they settle down. When they settle, they settle upon steady “blue” – I’m always aware that, this time I speak to someone could be the last time I do so. I’m always aware that at any moment terrible things could happen to those I care about, or to myself. That nothing I have is permanent. I am going to lose everyone and everything I care about. This does not depress me. This allows me to appreciate what I have, and it helps me live an engaged life. I don’t want to avoid. I despise avoiding. I want to embrace.

This Grief is the touch of Odin’s Hunt upon my awareness. They beckon to me and bid me join Them. Poseidon says this pressure will not, will not ease until I’ve done so.

This Grief is not my grief, I know it is not, but it rages around me, outside the cocoon that Poseidon has created with His sheltering embrace. I have felt bereft. I have felt that He is distant. He is not distant. He is here. I am held.

edited because spelling. also words. also titles.

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11 Comments Add yours

  1. thank you for sharing all that you do. I resonate often to your posts and there is comfort in that and also a tool for me to keep it real with myself.

    Christine

    1. naiadis says:

      You’re welcome. I’m humbled and grateful that my writing might help you in any way. Keeping it real is important — and way harder than it really ought to be.

  2. *hugs* It’ll pass, I hope. Forget winter is coming, the light always comes after the dark. *more hugs*

    1. naiadis says:

      Hush you, and don’t try to take my winter too early. I’m so, so, *so* glad summer is finally over. I’m happy to stay in the dark part of the year, where it is grey and wet and overcast and beautiful. Maybe we’ll even get snow? (haha). I love this part of the year, season-wise. I’d live in autumn all the time, if I could. Clouds. I have *missed* clouds.

      1. I meant in terms of winter depression some sometimes get. You know, in a “the new year’s a-coming” (Hail, Samhain!) kind of way. 🙂

  3. Beth says:

    Yes. ((((Hugs))))

  4. Beth says:

    Reblogged this on Wytch of the North and commented:
    Am amazing post from Jo touching on how we both experience Hunt season. In my case, I weather it at Odin’s side as Queen of the Hunt Court I share with Him, standing with Him as the storm breaks, acting as a Door for the Hunt to rush through. The entire season is not always this hard, but this year the onslaught is heavy with Odin’s Holy Grief for the spirits that will be lost, the ones the Hunt will not be able to save.

  5. Beth says:

    Not yes it will pass, but just yes.

    1. naiadis says:

      (((hugs))))

  6. Reblogged this on A Matter of Faith and commented:
    Amazing post.

  7. beanalreasa says:

    Thank you for writing this lovely post.
    There is so much that I grieve for this year, and also so much for which I am grateful, too.

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