I have been thinking about all of the little losses we rack up on the journey of life. How many little hits we take to the soul. And how these little dings and hits can sometimes harden us. They can make us more careful about what we care about. We can, without even realizing, hold ourselves apart and not allow ourselves to really love. Because we learn that love leads to loss and loss leads to pain. Of course if we adopt the Buddhist practice of non-attachment, then we know that life is suffering and that we suffer because we become attached. Life is every changing and loss is inevitable, so we bend like willow in the wind and accept the change. But then how do we avoid becoming disconnected and uncaring? I see Buddhist monks that seem to happy and compassionate and giving, yet how do you stay that way while being unattached? What is the difference between love and attachment?
Anyway, that’s not the philosophical question I came here to write about this morning. I don’t want to become hardened and cold. I don’t want to keep the world at arm’s length so I don’t get hurt. I want to remain open and loving and compassionate and caring and kind and supportive and accepting. I want to remain warm and loving. I don’t want the dings on my heart to make me afraid to dive deep and love.
I can feel myself closing. I can feel myself not as open to love. Loving and being loved. I want to mourn and grieve for 50 years of losses big and small and then I want to fold them into the fabric of who I am. Let them settle into the folds like soft, worn jeans. Let them give me comfort that I loved and lost. That I dared to dream and was disappointed. But I don’t want to stop loving and losing and dreaming and feeling. I don’t want to harden instead of becoming softer.
So I want to allow myself to mourn all the losses. And then fold them into me. And become softer for the wear.