After Missing the Recluse on the Western Mountain
To your hermitage here on the top of the mountain
I have climbed, without stopping, these ten miles.
I have knocked at your door, and no one answered;
I have peeped into your room,
At your seat beside the table.
Perhaps you are out riding,
Or fishing, more likely, in some autumn pool.
Sorry though I am to be missing you,
You have become my meditation.
The beauty of the grasses, fresh with rain,
And close beside the window the music of pines,
I take into my being all that I see and hear,
Soothing my senses, quieting my heart;
And though there be neither host nor guest,
Have I not had a visit complete?
The afternoon fades, I make my way
Back down the mountain.
Why should I wait for you any longer?
-Ch-iu Wei
Our lives change in fundamental ways when someone we love
dies. Death, along with love, really are
the unopened gifts that can pass by. Rilke captures a poignant link in our
daily lives. The loss of a loved one is traumatic and the mourning that follows
dramatically alters our lives. The journey is difficult, our fears about the
unknown are brought into our conscious awareness with overwhelming force. The
shock and disbelief at the beginning eventually gives way to deep sadness,
anger, and confusion. Our minds struggle to reorient to a life without someone
who is always there. When I am sharing the therapy space with someone who is grieving,
we take into our being all that we see and hear. We find healthy ways to soothe
painful thoughts and feelings. We use the time to make our way back down the
mountain and into a new life.