Grace

a poem

In the wake of shattering loss, a sacred something may seep through the tattered fragments of what is left of our life, permeating the field with a certain luminosity not in spite of the grief but rather through its fiery invitation. Which does not preclude unbearable sorrow. The two realities seem to co-exist in the broken-open space of the heart. For the griever it can be confusing, but for those who love them it can be utterly mystifying.

Grief, Tomi Arai, 2003. Image from The New York Public Library.

Grace

They observe her through various microscoping instruments.
From the municipal library downtown, she appears stable and aloof.
Through the bathroom window, neighbors can hear her screaming.
There are stories.
She once fled a town hall meeting in tears.
It had nothing to do with the fiscal issues on the table.
Nobody was mean to her.
It was just that it was the second time she had been out of the house
since the accident.

Through the lens of spiritual community
She can be seen turning in the slow ecstasy of loss.
That gentle madness that descends when everything
we have ever been attached to is stripped away
and dissolved under the blanket of the Guru.
They know she knows how blessed she is
to have this terrible thing come to fruition in this lifetime.
How gracefully the karma burns, they tell each other.

Through the window of family
She is recognized as frantic and broken.
They zero in on the raisin-colored wrinkled bags under her eyes.
They chart her sleepless nights
And calculate the probabilities
of her becoming hysterical at holiday gatherings.
How is she doing? the media wants to know.
What can I say? they say.
But what they are really saying is,
Not so well, but don’t quote me.

Since the accident
She stays home and organizes closets.
She wears loose black things and never forgets to wash her hair.
She has taken a new interest in Judaism.
And she is not afraid to sing anymore.
She remembers obsessively the abortion.
She would do things differently now.

It doesn’t matter what they see when they examine her,
what they conclude and report.
The grace is as false as the brokenness.
Yes.

A child dies and a mother shatters,
re-enters the world jagged and dangerous.
A child dies and a mother wakes up,
The whole world rendered infinitely tender,
Everyone in it unbearably precious.