Sadness

There are times when sadness falls upon us, some present or past loss that comes down like the weight of heavy snow bearing down on tree branches. We must carry its weight until it melts or falls off. At times, it feels like we might just break. It could cause us to sleep, to stare at our work or art with a blankness, as if a vacuum has sucked the well dry. We wonder if it will be filled again. This is what sadness is. 

Today, I took a walk with sadness. I let her come along with me through the woods. I befriended her and didn't push her away. We got along. But then, as happens, we think we can move on and are shocked when we turn and she is still there. She came for a walk with me, but then I closed the door on her again and when I stared at my computer screen wanting to write and felt devoid of anything with which to share, I was reminded by a friend to say hello to her again. So I opened the door and she gave me this. 

Sadness is okay. In fact, it is actually beautiful. Imagine sitting across from someone in the depths of sadness and letting her be just that in your quiet, holding presence. There is a profound beauty in witnessing the welling up of tears in the eyes of someone. We need permission to hold grief for as long as is needed. Letting it literally fall from our eyes, watching it fall from others' eyes, we don't have to be scared by it. We don't have to be pushed to move past it or put on a mask to cover it. We can move at that slower pace that sadness wants of us. And, when the fear of our immobility arises, as if it might become a permanent guest, we can remember to be a friend to our sadness and invite her in. She is not some obnoxious guest banging at our door. She is the sweetest of puppies asking for our love. We can soften ourselves to the pain and in doing so, we inherently create space for something greater to come in. There is nothing to fear in welcoming sadness; it does not cancel out our happiness. Truly joyful people know sadness well.