There was a time during the depths of my grieving when I felt as if I were drowning. M and I went for a walk in nearby park. Here is an excerpt from Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again where she helped me through the moment:
“M didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stopped and pulled out her iPhone, turning to the wild flowers just off the trail’s edge.
“I love wild flowers. I must take a photo,” she said. “They only come once a year. They give us their beauty if we are awake to appreciate their gift. They die in the fall, and spring forth again for their next growing season. Think God is sending us a message about life with the flowers?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Babe gave us her beauty, especially to you, and she gave it to all she met. Always be grateful for her gift, Ray. You don’t cry when the wild flowers die, you know there will be another season. God is telling you there will be another season.”
I couldn’t help myself as tears rolled down my cheeks. I embraced M. After a moment, I let go.
“Thank you. There will be another season,” I said, reassuring myself.”
Excerpt From
Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again. Available in paperback and ebook formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes, and Kobo.
Ray Calabrese
This material is copyright.
For the next (fill in a number) days I will present Thoughts on Writing by Ray Bradbury from his book, Zen in the Art of Writing.
I’ve read Bradbury’s book four times and I’m starting my fifth read. Beginning tomorrow, I will share Ray Bradbury’s wisdom on writing as I re-read his book. ENJOY.
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Love is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explain it.
– Rabindranath Tagore
Like kindness, a smile from the heart not only purifies the human mind but also illumines the human heart. ~ Sri Chinmoy
Early in my grieving process, I received lots of advice on how to grieve as if there was a right or wrong way to grieve. In Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again, I asked M if there was a right or wrong way to grieve. Here is an excerpt from the book:
“What do you think? Is there a right and wrong way to grieve?”
M didn’t answer as we kept walking. A hundred yards further, she broke our silence.
“What makes you think there is a right way to grieve?” she asked.
“I read it in a newsletter,” I felt foolish. M let it pass.
“I know you love sports, Ray. Is there a right way to hit a baseball?” asked M.
I thought about it for a second and said, “No. As long as you can hit a baseball, it doesn’t matter. There are some general mechanics all ballplayers share, but each one hits with a personal style.”
“What does that tell you about grieving?” M asked. “It’s not a trick question.”
“Everyone has their own way of dealing with grief. There is no one size fits all,” I said.
M patted my shoulder and said, “You’ve got it on your first attempt. Like you said, there are mechanics everyone needs. In the end, using the baseball metaphor, it’s you in the batter’s box and grief pitching. No one else can hit the ball but you.”
Dancing Alone: Learning to Live Again is available in print and eBook formats worldwide. eBooks can be downloaded from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, iBooks, Kobo and eBooks2go.com
Excerpt From
Dancing Alone
Raymond Calabrese
This material is protected copyright.
Tip 11: Write first and always. Painting, music, friends, cinema, all these come afterwards.
What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That’s not been said a thousand times?
The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.
We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.
We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.
We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.
We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
And that’s the burden of the year.
“The darker the night, the brighter the stars,
The deeper the grief, the closer is God!”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky
