What Is the Point?

When grief cracks open the meaning of being human.

My daughter asked me,

“What is the point?”

She asked it as she witnessed me lost in a haze, a fog of sadness she feels too, amplified by my own.

Losing my mother spills into so many aspects of my life. I forget time until it is gone. Past becomes present, present becomes past. A kaleidoscope of memories, images, and actions suspended in this strange present perfect, an open space that arrives in waves of ebb and flow, a whirlpool balancing on an edge.

We say we come into this world alone and die alone, but I do not think that is really the case. We come in through the mother.

What is the point?

I can comprehend and understand the process intellectually, spiritually, energetically, but the humanness…the deep, raw, unfiltered primal emotions that sway back and forth, trying to reach their center, their equilibrium, their right direction, these are what make the question itself my state of being.

My medicine: sound, tuning forks, energy tools and practices sits mostly untouched lately. I know they would give me relief and momentum, but my need to go through the labyrinth of sadness and grief all the way through, to soak, to stir, to submerge into a point of stillness, is at this moment more powerful, keeping my hum dimmed, off key and off rhythm.

What is the point?

My daughter’s question cracked slightly through my haze, opening ever so slowly within my being.

Love. Connections. Sensations. Feelings. Music. Movement. A new day. A new sunrise.

The body is a natural pendulum, designed to resynch, renew, rethink itself into being complete in its wholeness.

If it is achingly painful, it is achingly healing.

Our humanness.