…the alchemising of our grief and loss goes on. Our unfolding, unbecoming, returning, goes on…
Yes, I feel this to be true. How we process our feelings in light of our own lives is a complicated thing.
Going through a harder time at the moment. Grief and a huge other uncertainty going hand in hand for me right now. The word ‘impossible’ often comes to mind but then again, everything’s relative.
What seems impossible for one is possible for another.
There’s wisdom in your post and as always, so much heart. An uncomfortably comforting read because losing someone you love and letting yourself find joy in their memory is I find at this point, so very hard to do.
I used to love autumn; loved the colours, the feel of the air as the season turned, the sounds and tastes in all its fayre. It seemed such a natural place for me. My home sweet birth-month home. Now I want it by. I don’t want to be reminded of what is gone, this time, this year.
The alchemy of things, lost on me.
I’m grieving and the moon seems very dark in its light. Too soon for perspective. Reading Kokoro and hoping it will help me find my way.
Tragedy brought me to a similar realization as yours “The year I lost and learned how to grieve my mother didn’t make me stronger, it just made me realise that I was already stronger than I knew.” I am still working on standing taller in my vulnerability. Your words on grief I feel deeply. Thank you.
Your thoughts on time will stay with me, something to mull over in the coming days. My mum has Alzheimer’s, which is so often portrayed purely as heartbreaking, but also brings such unexpected joy, such pure being in the moment. Your mother’s words - we get to have this day - are the truest, quietest most valuable celebration of this life. I am so sad you lost her and so glad you found the bittersweet joy of her within it too.
Thank you Bonnie. My mum’s absolute presence following her diagnosis was something I will never forget and I am glad you have the blessing of that with your own mother ❤️
Thank you Beth, this piece has really spoken to me. I am learning to begin again following the death of my mother two months ago. I am making space for me, for my own health and healing. It's a first! I've done so much fast paced striving to prove I'm good enough. But I was always good enough. I just never knew.
I'm thrilled to be starting out on my journey of self discovery and am very grateful to have you and Kokoro by my side! It's amazing its taken me until 62 to begin and to be free of the shackles that have held me in the past.
Oh Beth, I bought a digital copy of Kokoro when it first came out in the UK, but haven't read it up til now. I will begin today and I've also began the journalling prompts today. My own mum passed away just 9 weeks ago and I'm now on such a journey of discovering compassion and wanting to heal from past trauma. As the harvest moon rose in the sky here in Northumberland, something shifted. It is time. Time for me. Time to learn, to grow and move. Kokoro and your work will help me in this, I'm sure.
This is so beautiful, thank you for writing and articulating this. It brought out my own grief that had been buried deep in my heart, I felt it move through me up to my eyes to release for love of what has passed but which still thrums through our veins.
Thank you Beth for your beautiful words - your book is stunning, beautiful and supportive and reflective of loss, love and family. Thank you for your words - they are medicine for me
Took me a while to grasp that there was no thing to do in order to do less. Simply less doing. Egged puddings and gilded lilies spring to mind. Imperceptible at first, the habit becomes, well, habitual, all by itself.
Spent a lovely, lonely hour in the small hours of this morning with the larger than life moon and Xavier Rudd's music (along with Cat Stevens's Moonshadow and Allen Ginsberg's Gospel Noble Truths - and much silence too. So thank you for enhancing that whole experience. Inspired to order Kokoro on Audible, which I've just done to be able to take in this beautiful writing during the darknesses without needing a light. (I read it in hardback earlier this year and found so much to resonate with. My mother fell at 82 and lived another nine months, unable to eat. During that time we found new depth to how we knew and loved each other, a time for which I am so deeply grateful I'd find it impossible (yet) to express in writing what this was like.) Whatever it is that you bring to this world, my world, Beh Kempton, please keep doing it because the words flow more easily through me these days - someone asked me the "what do you do?" question recently, in a shop in a small market town and I heard myself answer - I write, I'm a writer. And you know what? I am too.
…the alchemising of our grief and loss goes on. Our unfolding, unbecoming, returning, goes on…
Yes, I feel this to be true. How we process our feelings in light of our own lives is a complicated thing.
Going through a harder time at the moment. Grief and a huge other uncertainty going hand in hand for me right now. The word ‘impossible’ often comes to mind but then again, everything’s relative.
What seems impossible for one is possible for another.
There’s wisdom in your post and as always, so much heart. An uncomfortably comforting read because losing someone you love and letting yourself find joy in their memory is I find at this point, so very hard to do.
I used to love autumn; loved the colours, the feel of the air as the season turned, the sounds and tastes in all its fayre. It seemed such a natural place for me. My home sweet birth-month home. Now I want it by. I don’t want to be reminded of what is gone, this time, this year.
The alchemy of things, lost on me.
I’m grieving and the moon seems very dark in its light. Too soon for perspective. Reading Kokoro and hoping it will help me find my way.
Tragedy brought me to a similar realization as yours “The year I lost and learned how to grieve my mother didn’t make me stronger, it just made me realise that I was already stronger than I knew.” I am still working on standing taller in my vulnerability. Your words on grief I feel deeply. Thank you.
Oh Jessie❤️Stand tall my friend. We are all holding you up Xx
Together!
Your thoughts on time will stay with me, something to mull over in the coming days. My mum has Alzheimer’s, which is so often portrayed purely as heartbreaking, but also brings such unexpected joy, such pure being in the moment. Your mother’s words - we get to have this day - are the truest, quietest most valuable celebration of this life. I am so sad you lost her and so glad you found the bittersweet joy of her within it too.
Thank you Bonnie. My mum’s absolute presence following her diagnosis was something I will never forget and I am glad you have the blessing of that with your own mother ❤️
Oh Sue, I am sending so much love to you. I hope Kokoro is a good companion as you travel this road ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Beth, this piece has really spoken to me. I am learning to begin again following the death of my mother two months ago. I am making space for me, for my own health and healing. It's a first! I've done so much fast paced striving to prove I'm good enough. But I was always good enough. I just never knew.
❤️❤️❤️ That is something I discovered in the grief journey and writing of KOKORO
I'm thrilled to be starting out on my journey of self discovery and am very grateful to have you and Kokoro by my side! It's amazing its taken me until 62 to begin and to be free of the shackles that have held me in the past.
You've inspired this week's Substack post: https://suereed.substack.com/p/windows-of-opportunity
Oh Beth, I bought a digital copy of Kokoro when it first came out in the UK, but haven't read it up til now. I will begin today and I've also began the journalling prompts today. My own mum passed away just 9 weeks ago and I'm now on such a journey of discovering compassion and wanting to heal from past trauma. As the harvest moon rose in the sky here in Northumberland, something shifted. It is time. Time for me. Time to learn, to grow and move. Kokoro and your work will help me in this, I'm sure.
Sending you love as you turn the pages Sue ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you Beth, wiping the dirt from my window 😔
This is so beautiful, thank you for writing and articulating this. It brought out my own grief that had been buried deep in my heart, I felt it move through me up to my eyes to release for love of what has passed but which still thrums through our veins.
Sending love❤️Such a beautiful reflection Xx
So many truths in this heart-touching, beautiful piece. 💞💞💞
Each morning we wake, we are blessed because we "get to have this day."
Thank you Beth for your beautiful words - your book is stunning, beautiful and supportive and reflective of loss, love and family. Thank you for your words - they are medicine for me
🙏🏻❤️
"We get to have this day." - I need to remember this on the days my Mom is stubborn and the dementia is taking over.
❤️
I'm choosing more contentment with what is right in front of me. There is only now and I can only be myself.
Honestly, more time, more energy, more wisdom, more understanding, more nature, more ease.
I love this piece. A perfect description of how art and life and nature twine together and mirror each other.
A second comment; springing out of the deep journalling stuff.
You ask what more I am choosing these days?
I am choosing less. Not for some slick 'less is more' but simply because less is less. And it's bloody brilliant!
So true, Less is less and all the better for it. I'm not always so good at doing less - it feels quite deliberate rather than instinctive.
Took me a while to grasp that there was no thing to do in order to do less. Simply less doing. Egged puddings and gilded lilies spring to mind. Imperceptible at first, the habit becomes, well, habitual, all by itself.
Quite. Maybe I am trying too hard :)
Your words, as ever, touch my heart and awaken my kokoro. This essay is profoundly beautiful and, yes, bittersweet. Thank you, Beth.❤️
Spent a lovely, lonely hour in the small hours of this morning with the larger than life moon and Xavier Rudd's music (along with Cat Stevens's Moonshadow and Allen Ginsberg's Gospel Noble Truths - and much silence too. So thank you for enhancing that whole experience. Inspired to order Kokoro on Audible, which I've just done to be able to take in this beautiful writing during the darknesses without needing a light. (I read it in hardback earlier this year and found so much to resonate with. My mother fell at 82 and lived another nine months, unable to eat. During that time we found new depth to how we knew and loved each other, a time for which I am so deeply grateful I'd find it impossible (yet) to express in writing what this was like.) Whatever it is that you bring to this world, my world, Beh Kempton, please keep doing it because the words flow more easily through me these days - someone asked me the "what do you do?" question recently, in a shop in a small market town and I heard myself answer - I write, I'm a writer. And you know what? I am too.
This is so beautiful ❤️