Sunday is my Sabbath, my day of rest. I can use it this week. No computer, cell phones, Ipads, blogging. Abraham Herschel writes that on the Sabbath it is given us to share in the holiness that is in the heart of time. Even when the soul is seared, even when no prayer can come out of our tightened throats, the clean silent rest of the day of rest leads us to a realm of endless peace, to the beginning of a new awareness of what eternity means. Eons hence, when of many our cherished theories only shreds will remain, that cosmic tapestry will continue to shine.
This was a remarkable week for me, marked by loss and gain, sadness and jubilation. It was a good week, a great week. I lost Rose and was awash in sympathy, understanding and appreciation. I lost Rose and helped sell 1,000 books at Battenkill. I lost Rose and have a wonderful partner to share my life, good and bad. I lost Rose and took a hundred good photos and write a dozen good things. I cried five or six times last week, and laughed hundreds of times. I lost Rose and have three wonderful dogs to love. And Simon and Lulu and Fanny. And more photographs to take. And books that are due, to write and edit. And another children’s book to be published this Fall. And a short story collection out in October. Creative sparks, flying everywhere. And a blog to feed every day with thoughts and photographs. I lost Rose but came to understand that I am part of a powerful community, connected to another by big hearts and good will. How wonderful to discover this anew, such a great and enduring gift. As one caller told me, “you didn’t know we were really out there, did you? Or what you and Rose mean to us.”
No, I didn’t.
I have come to see the boundaries of grief for me. It is not a tragedy to lose my dog, even Rose. And Rose and I are definitely not a tragic thing, bounded by pain. For me, using a dog is not the same as losing a spouse, or a child, or a good friend, I am sorry to say I know this for certain. I am careful not to use the same language, out of respect for people on the edge of life. I am not only good, I am very well, very happy, and very eager to continue on with my life, a miracle of opportunity every day that is remaining to me. Rose’s loss opened up deep wells of sorrow for me, and yes, of grief. The soul was seared, I think. But these feelings are already becoming more faint and less painful. Someone e-mailed me today and urged me to continue grieving, and permit myself to experience the loss. Thanks, I know that message came from the heart, but no thanks. My intention is to continue feeling good, answering the creative spark, and using my day off to count every single one of my blessings, if there is time until dusk.
Eternity utters a day.
See you tonight.
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