Our Sacred Sadness

When the clouds come rolling in,
and they surely will,
my daughter, my sister,
my mother, my friend,

sink in
to that Sacred Sadness

and know

that you
are an elemental part
of all the autumns
of this world,

and of her Creator,
who gave birth in agony,
and awaits our arrival
with expectant anguish.

Allow your
self to smell
the dampness of the leaves,
to feel the sting of smoke
from the burning bush,
and to taste the salty sea
that streams down
the cheek of the stranger
beside you and in
side you.

Be still.

Cry, if you must.

But do
not give in
to the sly temptation
that beckons you
from the murky cavern
of distraction
and detachment.

Sink into it,
like bare feet in
velvety, springtime mud.

And know:

that this is the upbeat
of the Sacred Dance.

The downbeat will come,
as it always does:
butterscotch sunshine,
cottonball clouds,
harpsichord arpeggios
and warmly held hands.

But were it not for
the upbeat
there would be no Dance -
no back-and-forth,
no give-and-take,
no swaying, spiraling movement.

Is this why we fear
Heaven?
Why angel wings
and praise-and-worship
for all eternity
strike us as eternally,
dismally boring?

And if this is your last
holy pain,
your last
gasping breath,

know

that on the other side
of this page,

awaits

the One
who makes both autumn and spring,
sends sunsets and storms.

And that we will all
Dance
in wholeness

even as we have
in all our brokenness
here.