Chloe, I feel like you have become a lightning rod for all the suffering in the world and on Sundays you ground all that white hot grief that the rest of us don’t allow in. I hope you are taking care of yourself. The writing here is exquisite as always. This line in particular:
“The spaciousness which the wave so generously leaves in its wake is always worth the labour of the meeting.”
Egads, Chloe. Your writing always arrives at the moment I most need it. I won't try to be cute. That's all I've got except that I am eternally grateful for your words and every ounce I squeeze out of them. Honestly! I cannot overstate the impact. Thank you.
"I picture these nebulous pockets of grief, moving from person to person, door to door, tireless in their pursuit of a temporary occupant..." Such an unusual thought, Chloe, this idea that the heavy grief I endure was not of my own creation, but rather is an entity that we all host from time to time, that rests a while in individuals, sometimes for a short while and sometimes forever. I am somehow comforted by the thought that I am grief's "host" rather than grief's victim. You always give me much to consider.
This is a beautiful reminder that I’ve been too armored lately and out of sorts from the disconnection. I love the image of grief waves needing a body to hold and express them. And this: “the more I accept and forgive things for being just as they are, the better able I am to witness, and withstand, beauty.” Two poems come to mind. I’ll share below.
Chloe, thank you from the depths of my grief seasoned heart. I have read your post over and over today. After the second reading, I subscribed to your Substack. I am truly blessed and in awe and wonderment of your words. I find so much consolation in you sharing this personal and, yes, sacred encounter.
For I have dropped down on my knees and welcomed home this Visitor time and again over these past four years. Weeping and sobbing and entering that altered state where no reason or logic resides. Awhile back somehow some fiber in my being gave permission to letting my heart break wide open. I remember the first time — it was during my third therapy session. (My wife of 25 years had died suddenly two months previously). From that moment on, the floodgates of sorrow we’re let loose — and everything, everything I thought I knew about sorrow and death and beauty became transformed.
And I read your words and I say, Yes! — she knows, she has been there, and she is another Grief-walker. We are kin. We are pushing back against the tide of a grief phobic culture. What we do is is subversive and in protest, it is what keeps the heart alive and heals us. And the heart expands and becomes vast and spacious. Then I learned this grief walking has the capacity to hold and revere all the unexpressed sorrow of my ancestors. That this is one of my callings.
And, I too, have many sacred places on the land that I live and have loved more since Barbara passed. This forrest that surrounds my house, this great red oak, this stand of tall white pine, this granite rock outcrop, the cairn that I built over my wife’s grave…
And the barred owl that called out in the dark hot summer nights, the fox that denned under our cabin bedroom in winter, the pair of wood thrush that sacrificed their lives in the making of our Third Embodiment…
Yes, Chloe, as Mary Oliver asks us, what will we do with this one wild and precious life? Or what I ask myself everyday, what will I do with this glorious day? How will I be in it?
My goodness Chloe. Today I decided to listen to you read while I followed along with the post.. You really have a way of capturing the manic, the fanciful, the melancholy thoughts that depression and its offshoots invade the mind. It is a gift to hear you reading.
Chloe, I am thankful I came across this article when it was shared in Notes. Your ability to capture the essence of grief touches a place buried within, an intimate space deep within my heart that nobody else knows, except now you!
This is the essence of how to live. Life is a paradox.
I try and write about this but it just doesn't come out like your stunning eloquence. It ends up with me sounding like I am just an emotional wreck! Whereas, I am trying to show the freedom that comes when we embrace all of our emotions.
“Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond.” Mark Nepo
Chloe, I feel like you have become a lightning rod for all the suffering in the world and on Sundays you ground all that white hot grief that the rest of us don’t allow in. I hope you are taking care of yourself. The writing here is exquisite as always. This line in particular:
“The spaciousness which the wave so generously leaves in its wake is always worth the labour of the meeting.”
Egads, Chloe. Your writing always arrives at the moment I most need it. I won't try to be cute. That's all I've got except that I am eternally grateful for your words and every ounce I squeeze out of them. Honestly! I cannot overstate the impact. Thank you.
"I picture these nebulous pockets of grief, moving from person to person, door to door, tireless in their pursuit of a temporary occupant..." Such an unusual thought, Chloe, this idea that the heavy grief I endure was not of my own creation, but rather is an entity that we all host from time to time, that rests a while in individuals, sometimes for a short while and sometimes forever. I am somehow comforted by the thought that I am grief's "host" rather than grief's victim. You always give me much to consider.
Sensational, intense writing. It makes me feel that if Emily Dickinson were alive today, she'd be called Chloe Hope.
This is a beautiful reminder that I’ve been too armored lately and out of sorts from the disconnection. I love the image of grief waves needing a body to hold and express them. And this: “the more I accept and forgive things for being just as they are, the better able I am to witness, and withstand, beauty.” Two poems come to mind. I’ll share below.
Chloe, thank you from the depths of my grief seasoned heart. I have read your post over and over today. After the second reading, I subscribed to your Substack. I am truly blessed and in awe and wonderment of your words. I find so much consolation in you sharing this personal and, yes, sacred encounter.
For I have dropped down on my knees and welcomed home this Visitor time and again over these past four years. Weeping and sobbing and entering that altered state where no reason or logic resides. Awhile back somehow some fiber in my being gave permission to letting my heart break wide open. I remember the first time — it was during my third therapy session. (My wife of 25 years had died suddenly two months previously). From that moment on, the floodgates of sorrow we’re let loose — and everything, everything I thought I knew about sorrow and death and beauty became transformed.
And I read your words and I say, Yes! — she knows, she has been there, and she is another Grief-walker. We are kin. We are pushing back against the tide of a grief phobic culture. What we do is is subversive and in protest, it is what keeps the heart alive and heals us. And the heart expands and becomes vast and spacious. Then I learned this grief walking has the capacity to hold and revere all the unexpressed sorrow of my ancestors. That this is one of my callings.
And, I too, have many sacred places on the land that I live and have loved more since Barbara passed. This forrest that surrounds my house, this great red oak, this stand of tall white pine, this granite rock outcrop, the cairn that I built over my wife’s grave…
And the barred owl that called out in the dark hot summer nights, the fox that denned under our cabin bedroom in winter, the pair of wood thrush that sacrificed their lives in the making of our Third Embodiment…
I honor you, Chloe, and your sacred journey♥️
A good host to birds, a good host to grief, and a beautifully wise and haunting writer. Thank you for being you, Chloe. You are a gift!
Yes, Chloe, as Mary Oliver asks us, what will we do with this one wild and precious life? Or what I ask myself everyday, what will I do with this glorious day? How will I be in it?
You are from another time and place. Peace to you, Chloe. From the depths of my heart. ❤️
Thank you. Thank You. For being there for the rest of us.
I am learning to balance myself to better witness and withstand the beauty of your writing.
Just astonishingly true. Thank you 💚
My goodness Chloe. Today I decided to listen to you read while I followed along with the post.. You really have a way of capturing the manic, the fanciful, the melancholy thoughts that depression and its offshoots invade the mind. It is a gift to hear you reading.
Chloe, I am thankful I came across this article when it was shared in Notes. Your ability to capture the essence of grief touches a place buried within, an intimate space deep within my heart that nobody else knows, except now you!
Well done on this brilliant piece💕
Just so so beautiful Chloe.
This is the essence of how to live. Life is a paradox.
I try and write about this but it just doesn't come out like your stunning eloquence. It ends up with me sounding like I am just an emotional wreck! Whereas, I am trying to show the freedom that comes when we embrace all of our emotions.
“Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond.” Mark Nepo
Thank you again Chloe. 💜
You're a wonderful writer, this is a gem.