The Parting

The Parting Something about sadness persists you know, tearing us apart, unheralded, ironic and we cannot leave it there alone. Carried to the grave and home again its wounded heart beats strong, enticingly and aching valiantly for the je ne sais pas quoi of more. There is a corollary to the grief we own, an outrage with a wondrous paradox, not as nepenthe or to minimize a tragedy but to confirm a deeper triumph self-interred, and restless for a voice. For then it is that sensitivity imparts its truth, the heart may speak and with a welcome irony, will yet perform all sadness with a wisdom gained through thought--we're made of restlessness, of glory-seeking for the sake of it. It is the heights where we belong, with all the nakedness we are, and parting tears enrich, not drain our souls. One of them, beloved in life, in death informed me later that the sight of God was in the light that shone upon him... evidence enough for me that all the sadness there is solid ground for joy. ~