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.