The dictionary peeps say:

To bear =
To carry the weight of.
To support.
To sustain without flinching or breaking.

Hum.
~~~
Here’s a tiny peak into my world:

With moderate chipper-ness, 
I’m driving around my world,
Doing my errands.

Savoring my ten-minute vacation in CVS.
Rocking out a few-minute jaunt 
With my grocery cart.

Showing up,
Being kind to others,
Saying hello.

It’s a pastime I’m savoring these days,
This errand-doing.
What the heck?

I remember seeing my parents in retirement,
All they seemed to do,
According to my younger eyes
Was
Errands.

I scoffed.

Here I am now,
Fully self-expressed
Doing errands.
Perhaps that’s my genetic lean?

Anyway, I’m driving.
Listening to public radio.
The ongoing fund drive.
I haven’t donated yet.
I always do.
I’m waiting for the moment.
The newest support drive is announced.
The Animal Foundation, 
Offering free food to families’ & their animal companions.

That’s it—that’s the issue for me.
Time to donate.

Delighted,
Taking my erranding energy
To public radio,
I pull over
In the Stop and Shop 
Parking lot.

I grab my busy little credit card.

Calling the station.
Talking to a sweet volunteer.
Gabbing about animals.
Giving her my card number.
All good.

I’m all functional.
I’m all there,
One with.

Concluding our call, 
The volunteer asks me,

Would you like to give the donation in memory of your deceased animal companions?

Out of nowhere,
I am slammed.

Slammed by a wave 
Of grief
That squeezes my chest,
That stops my breath.

A giant sob is unleashed from me.
One sob opens the floodgates.

Gasping 
And
Sobbing,
I try for the name “Lucy”

It isn’t possible.
I get to Lu—-
I’m gulping and stuttering
The Lu,
Trying for the
Cy.

The volunteer is wonderful.
I’m sorry, dear, 
She offers.
She tells me to breathe.
Is that possible?
Do they train NPR volunteers to deal with grief-stricken contributors?

I am still trying to offer the litany,
Lucy-Zacy-Buzzie,
(Dog—Dog—Bird)

The mantra,
Lucy—Zacy—Buzzie.

My companions
No longer here
But waiting for me,
I am certain,
In another 
Place.

Perhaps an easier place?

I get only to the Lu.

That has to be enough,
I surrender.

Somehow, we conclude.
Unable to breathe or say much
I mumble my gratitude.

I hang up,
Shakily.

Sitting in the Stop and Shop parking lot,
Awed
And
Overwhelmed
By the grief
Upon which
I sit.

Overwhelmed and awed
By the switch that got flipped
At the mere thought 
Of
Lucy-Zacy-Buzzy.

Grief is
Right
Here.

Past
Loss
Is
Right
Here.

Anxiety
About the 
Future
Loss
Is
Right
Here.

I contain well.
I function well.
I show up.
Well
Enough.

And
I am
Swimming
In
Grief
Of
Past losses,

In the grief
Of future
Uncertainties.

And most of the time,
I’m zooming along,
Just fine,

Ms. Functionality.
~~~
Dear Folks,

As Joanna Macy, the remarkable environmental activist and Buddhist elder, 
Explained to my
Socially Engaged Buddhism training group in 2019:

We who are here,
During this time
On our planet,

We who are here,
We are meant to be here.
We are meant to be here now.

We are here
To
Bear
Witness.

The bearing witness,
That is the doing.
~~~
Grief and hope and hope and grief.
Hope and grief and grief and hope.

Talk about a litany.
Talk about a dance.

We cannot have one without the other.
We cannot access our hope 
If we are running from our grief.

What is so different between
My cockily competent errand running
And my sobbing breakdown with NPR?
It’s all me.
No bad parts,
Right?
~~~
HERE IS A SONG OF HOPE.  Thanks, dear Callie L, for sending it on.
This rapper and singer, Matthew Paul Miller, American Jew.
In 2008, gathered 3000 people, strangers, together in Haifa, Israel.
Israelis and Arabs together.
Everybody, together.
He taught them a song.
In an hour they all learn.

The lyrics are written and sung in English, in Hebrew, in Arabic.
I sobbed.
But obviously
Besides being a competent mench in the world,
I am 
Obviously
A weeper.

Please watch.
It’s worth it.

~~~
Dear Friends,
Let’s together pray
That the highest will unfold
For all.

Let’s together pray
That the most vulnerable
Amongst us
Will be
The most protected.

Let’s together pray
That all beings
Will benefit
From our
Shared words.

Peace,
Aruni

As soon as I heard the opening words of this sermon, I knew I must share it with you.

Who among us isn’t walking through our days with some level of percolating grief?

In the midst of our glorious world, much has been lost.

So much is threatened to be lost, as truth and fact shimmer in the glare of misinformation.

Grief is inevitable.

Loss is our birthright.

Denying ourselves access to our own grief short circuits our wholeness and inhibits our connection to each other.

~~~

This sermon given on the eve of Rosh Hashana, heralding the Jewish New Year of 5785 in Central Synagogue, NYC, offers us a profound and perfect perspective on grief, psychologically, emotionally and spiritually.

Rabbi Angela Buchdahl lives as a hero in my heart.

Her sermon is twenty minutes long, a stretch for our format, I know.  Make it work for yourself as best you can; listen to snippets, if need be.  However you are able, give yourself this gift.

~~~

“Our tradition understands that we need mechanisms for mourning that will hold us up,
Encourage us to grieve,
Surround us with community,
And teach us to have a living relationship with our dead.”

Rabbi Angela Buchdahl

Come practice these teachings with me on December 6-8 at Kripalu.
Grief, Loss and Renewal—Savoring Life’s Lessons

~~~
Dear Friends,

One step at a time,
May we find our way.

One breath at a time,
May we be reminded.

One second at a time,
May we surround ourselves with kindness.

May all beings benefit from our time together.

To dark, stormy nights.
To the glory of rainbows.

Give us the courage
And the strength
To be there
For all of it ,
As best
We can.

Aruni

~~~
*quote and sermon by Rabbi Angela Buchdahl