an experiment

What eats grief?


This is my experiment.


A friend gives me copies of articles about grief, thinking it might help.  A kind act, I know; but I say these tell me nothing new.  Social scientists can explain grief, measure it, predict the outcome, but when it comes to understanding it in the bones, humans have always turned to poets and musicians and strong spirits (liquid and metaphysical).


I read.  Everything, including the social scientists.  Some poets.  Some novelists.  My journals.  Rich's, everything that is not physics.  


I sink into my body, craving the physical.  With walks and hikes, weight machines, massages, long showers.


I eat, when I remember.


I drink, rarely.  There's no reason to buzz, most of the time.


I breath and I say words that I call prayer, and sometimes say nothing and know it is prayer.


I look at my list made in November and realize everything is done.  Successfully, too.  But that was the measurable material.


Is this eating grief?


It is.  Successful, perhaps.  The next list will be harder.


Candace