the significance of sadness

Ahhhh….here it is What you have all been waiting for (said with a hint of sarcasm). LFBA’s last post of 2011. 

“Sadness gives depth. Happiness gives height. Sadness gives roots. Happiness gives branches. Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth. Both are needed, and the higher a tree goes, the deeper it goes, simultaneously. The bigger the tree, the bigger will be its roots. In fact, it is always in proportion. That’s its balance.”    ―      Osho,        Everyday Osho: 365 Daily Meditations for the Here and Now

 My past, present and future were shattered again beginning Jan 1, 2010.  Sadness has definitely sunk its roots for the past 2 years. 

What was an amazingly high redwood was felled; ironically, by the lumberjack who fueled its skyward reach.   The fall broke it into many pieces and those rooted along its lengthy path of destruction. These roots were vigorous but few shoots rose toward the light. That tree was tall and heavy… it needed to shed weight again for growth to happen. The elements of time and nature tore the fibres to their elemental forms, allowing nutrients to seep through the Earth such that sprouts formed from those deep roots.

The roots have taken hold in many places now. As the tendrils grow stronger, the sadness wells through them via capillary action and is released. The journey of this sorrow toward  light is painful, but necessary.

Man could not live if he were entirely impervious to  sadness. Many sorrows can be endured only by being embraced, and the pleasure  taken in them naturally has a somewhat melancholy character.      Emile  Durkheim

Both Sorrow and Happiness hold us close to ourselves and others. Sorrow grounds us to the earth while the Helium pull of happiness takes us high. They are linked in essence like the two poles of a magnet. If you cut the magnet in half, trying to separate the two, it forms two again.

Tears are words the heart can’t express.      Unknown

I’ve cried with joy at many junctions of my marriage.  My son was born and he was perfect, but I was not. Joyful that he was here, yet fearful that I was not good enough for him…and I cried.  My inherited daughter beaming ear to ear on our wedding day as both X and I took her hand and walked the short aisle as a family…and I cried with joy and angst.  Was I good enough for this?? I mourn with unbelievable grief the loss of my family, but take joy that G is in my life.  I struggle toward the light but know I must reach.

“Tears are words that need to be written.”    ―      Paulo Coelho

Tears of Joy. Tears of Love. Tears of searing heartbreak. They are pure in their simplicity and at the same time divinely complex.  Words are crafted for them, but often inadequate in scope. I have tried…but know that all attempts are incomplete.  

“It is in dialogue with pain that many beautiful things acquire their value. Acquaintance with grief turns out to be one of the more unusual prerequisites of architectural appreciation. We might, quite aside from all other requirements, need to be a little sad before buildings can properly touch us.”    ―      Alain de Botton,        The Architecture of Happiness

The scars on X’s belly that bear history to the new lives brought forth…are beautiful. As she complained about them, I adored them. What payment can be offered for those priceless dermal remembrances?  She had my love. She had my devotion. We had our family.  None of those were payment enough to soothe her. She escaped, hoping that this could ease her concern for those reminders of our life together. Yet, she took those scars with her as well as the reasons for her denigration of them.

“A void in my chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed me the right to my hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt.”    ―      Rachel Sontag,        House Rules

I wish this were true. I wish no one understood, but so many of you do. I find solace and pain in that.  This necessary anger. This madness of defeat which wrestles our sensibilities and follows us, waiting to jump out and say boo when the light takes too long to turn green. It is there. It is my Sicilian and the Buddha must be ever vigilant, both embracing and restraining it lest it slip to the side past his ample belly.  He is there though. Knocking. Waiting. Coiled.

“Ester asked why people are sad. “That’s simple,” says the old man. “They are the prisoners of their personal history. Everyone believes that the main aim in life is to follow a plan. They never ask if that plan is theirs or if it was created by another person. They accumulate experiences, memories, things, other people’s ideas, and it is more than they can possibly cope with. And that is why they forget their dreams.”    ―      Paulo Coelho,        The Zahir

So this is the rub. We are prisoners all of us. Those of us left behind but also those who leave are captive to this. The sadness we feel gives reality to whatever cosmic event has pulled us into this game.  Without that sadness, our pasts are nothing but figments of thought. The sadness holds us to that reality and gives it substance. It is significant in that. The roots are strong they are.

This sorrow we feel allows us to stand on high and proclaim our purer love….for must it not be powerful  to have wrought this despair from us?  It’s haughty isn’t it? As low as we are made to feel by the betrayal of others, at least we have this. It is our shield and our sword. It is our vengeance and our significance…for without it we are only shells left behind on the beach. So we fight with this sorrow and anger to proclaim “WE EXIST! WE care! We bleed!  WE loved!!…and in that proclamation we fight to move until our voices are raw. It is true, this sadness is necessary for us now. It must be sublimated over time and distance as our branches grow stronger reaching for a new reality. And as those branches catch the light, they will shadow the sorrow that remains.

Peace to you all

2012…your birth is welcomed.

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