If you want to find a way into the Temple of Grief (for you wonder if therein lives the key to unbounded love) make your way, softly, to the tree you normally pass by but, this time, wait there patiently to hear how bird-song has become the silent melody of sorrow.
Dream a ritual into being right there which invokes the Listener in you. And as you wander into the terrain that is beyond your name sacrifice the familiar for the breath of new life.
Make Presence your offering to the excruciating Beauty you are beholding — that is alive inside of loss.
Let your teachers be these Lovers — ancestral winged masters — who generously spill their subtle, spirit-secrets of how to be with the cycles of change into the opening inside your chest.
Their lamenting is the current of Remembering and the voice of Knowing, unraveling a fertile faith within you: This is how we awaken to tenderness. This is how we bear the unbearable. This is how we die before we die.
© Alyona Kobevka