Astronomical Grief: A Space Exploration
You're Invited 7.5.24
I got this idea months ago, and I started exploring it. And then I experienced new grief. And I Loved friends whose grief was so heavy it had wounded them.
And as we continue to demand for the honoring of the humanity and lives of those whom oppressive systems and the people who uphold them have deemed unworthy - unworthy even of the divine breath that cannot actually be snatched - there is so much grief. I don't think I can contain it in my body.
I don't think you can either.
How do you keep ballooning grief from carrying you away? What, who, and where are your anchors?
Floating in space isn't desirable. Having a tether, a home base, a fiercely soft and sturdy place to land is ideal.
Grief is the same.
The first installment of the Astronomical Grief Hexalogy will be live on 7.5.24.
We'll be exploring grief, space, and us. Until then, identify your anchors and let them hold you. Our grief doesn't have to carry us into the abyss forever, it can lead us somewhere else - together.
If you want to share, let me know in the comments what your anchors are. I'll go first...
The trees are an anchor to me. It's actually jarring for me to see trees cut down, because I know with almost 100% assurance it wasn't done with any care or thanksgiving or thoughtfulness. Trees have often been here so much longer than a single life span, have seen far more than us, and still, they remain. And they contort their bodies to get to the nourishment of the light. Regardless of what is in their way, they will insist on the nourishment of the light.
I can’t. I can’t contain all the grief.