To gather in grief is to remember that you are not alone.
 

Why make space for grief at all? Because it’s already here.
Because it is life, moving. When we stop long enough to feel it — to really let it move through — we discover that grief is not against life.
It is life.

Grief is the movement of love that has nowhere else to go. When we hold it back, when we tighten around the pain, everything starts to harden. We lose our softness, our responsiveness. We become frozen in the effort to stay safe. But when we open… even just a little… the tears, the rage, the breaking — it all becomes part of the river again.
Nothing is wrong. Nothing is separate. Grief is love’s echo.

To grieve is love meeting itself through loss. And in that meeting, something very human happens. We begin to see each other. We see that this pain is not just mine or yours. It is the shared pulse of being alive. When we sit together — in silence, in tears, in the trembling of our hearts — we remember what we are: not separate individuals, but the one and the same living mystery, feeling itself in a thousand forms.

If we do not allow this movement, grief becomes sediment in the body. It weighs us down, turns into numbness, into disconnection, into the quiet despair of pretending. To grieve, then, is not weakness. It is truth. It is resistance against a world that says, “Keep busy. Stay nice. Don’t feel too much.” To grieve is to say, “I will feel this.” “I will not make my grief small.” And in that, “I will not make my life small.”

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