On Loss.


I came across this gem a few days ago:

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

--Robert Frost

I love how poetry and scripture can articulate things for us humans. Too often I find myself lacking in articularity when I try to communicate a feeling or an experience, so I happily rob the words of the poets and the prophets, letting them speak for me.

So why am I still talking then?

There is something supremely human about loss and unfulfilled expectation. One feels a special kind of grief, something so tangible that you almost feel like if you knew where to grasp, you could rip it out of yourself and just leave it all behind. We try, but of course reality trumps our intuition, and you end up feeling even more fully empty than before. It is so real yet so fleeting.

It is kind of like trying to find a pattern describing the sequence of prime numbers isn't it?

I would avoid cliches, but in the end there is always hope. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.