Love is Sitting in My Hand

 I am reading a book that is giving me comfort in my time of grief. It is the Tibetian Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche. One story told in the book if of the Buddha. There is a woman whose child dies and she goes around the village asking for someone to restore her child. The people send her to the Buddha. He tells her he will restore her baby if she can bring him corn from a home that has never experienced death. She buries her child and comes back to the Buddha to be taught about spirituality. 

Here is another a metaphor I learned from this book.

Love

Holding

Grasping

loss

without love

holding

trusting

opening and faith=love stays

Thank you.

Day of dead poem.

Day of the Dead.

by Misha Dawn 

They came like trees in fall, strong and colorful.
Change visual in the light shades of their hair and the lines around their eyes.
They came and sat quietly as birds sang loud songs of protest from the tree tops.
The uninvolved lines circled the the green, the church,
and alone,
circled the quiet rooms
filled with the smell of impermanence.

There was some among them that were small.
Today, all returned, and marched to drums, and bells, and dancers.
Everyday they can be heard in wind in treetops
and quiet exhales of love.