Joy and Sorrow Are Sisters
Tuesday, July 28, 2015 at 9:00 AM by Kayce Stevens Hughlett
“Joy and sorrow are sisters; they live in the same house.” Macrina Weiderkehr
I practice yoga. I practice breathing. I practice soul strolling. I practice writing. I practice life. Sometimes I even remember why I practice.
I practice for life. I practice for joy. I practice for grief and sorrow. I practice for the times they all jumble together. I practice for now.
Joy and sorrow are two sisters that live in the same house. They wrestle and fight, trying to prove that one is more important than the other. They hold hands. They push away. They tug at each other’s hair. They’re perplexed by how different they seem and how close they are. They love each other. They are confused siblings. The best they can do is stroll hand in hand, listening and noticing what arises around them. They need each other to remember the sacredness, sanctity, and beauty of both life and loss.
On the beach, my shadow mixes with the dark, austere sand and the seaweed, vibrant and green. Both are damp with tears from the sea. I don’t understand this thing called grief, but in its midst my heart begs to be by the water; to walk with one friend and to honor another with love notes in the sand. To watch the heavy clouds roll over the city while it glistens in the morning sun. Or is it "son"?
Our beautiful sons weigh heavy this day. Our friend’s is dead; mine—thankfully, surprisingly—alive. I don’t understand how both can be true. How the sun can shine in the midst of clouds? Like rain showers on a sunny day, it happens and defies comprehension.
My desire to walk by the sea is great even though my body feels sluggish and my heart carries a two-ton weight. I need to draw for her, our artist friend who feels like she may never draw again. How could she? Her son is dead. I pray she will pick up her pad and pen and sketch like sunshine peeking through heavy clouds; like the tug boat pushing through this bay; like the vibrant shell peeking out of the sand.
Ah, the broken shells… beautiful because of their cracks. We have so many cracks. At what point do we break beyond repair? Is it any coincidence that repair rhymes with despair?
As we walk the beach, the tide comes in leaving stairs to nowhere. That’s what grief feels like. Stairs to nowhere. Why bother? What is the point? How can this be? The sky darkens and there is sunshine. Sister Joy begs to take my hand. She invites me to write love notes in the sand and enthralls me with a lone seagull walking in the surf and later a young eagle drawing loops in the sky. She sings to me of hope and resilience. And then, Sorrow swoops back in, just because she can.
The sisters dance their dance until I am exhausted, drained, worn out. Like the tide, they rise and fall until I sleep a sound sleep. How can that be when my friend’s son is dead?
Life goes on. The sisters dance their wild tango. Sometimes they pause and take a breath. They fight over who will lead. Occasionally they find a rhythm that feels okay and they waltz. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Stop. Pause. Breathe. Stop. Pause. Breathe.
Laugh. Breathe. Cry. Laugh. Breathe. Cry. Joy and Sorrow are two sisters. They live in the same house.
~~~
Live it to Give it invitation: How will you invite these two sisters, Joy & Sorrow, to reside in your house?
Where might you need to Stop. Pause. Breathe. today?
Is there a friend in need to whom you're called to reach out? Remember: that "friend" could be you!
When you see my logo and the cover of BLUE: a novel, please send love, light, and peace to its beautiful creator, Debbie Patrk Vinyard.
On the joy side of my pendulum is my soon-to-be-released novel, Blue! Available for pre-order now.
Grief, Joy, SoulStrolling
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