Blessed
are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
One
of the definitions in the Chinese symbol for mourning is, “Wear the willow.”
The willow tree (“weeping willow”) is associated with sorrow, especially over
the loss of a loved one. What an odd metaphor! The willow tree is so graceful,
long branches of slender leaves swaying in the wind. Even the winter branches,
bare of their soft green leaves, continue to sway gracefully. As a child, I
loved the willow tree at my sister’s home, as it gave me a sense of grace and
peace. Never would I have associated it with mourning or loss. I never even
made the connection between weeping and willow – my focus was on “willow”.
Now, in reflecting on this second beatitude, I focused on the word “weeping”, as I recalled the times I mourned – the times my heart broke – and why some were so much more painful than others. A broken heart – that seems like such a melodramatic metaphor, but in my experience, the pain truly is akin to a broken arm or leg, or some other extreme body pain. I recall the flood of tears I experienced after my father died and I returned to San Francisco, when I was also experiencing a broken relationship – the difficulty breathing, sleeping, eating, and seeing beyond the fog of tears. I sat at the cloudy-grey rocky Pacific coast, letting the angry waves crashing against the rocks bathe me in the mist, melting into the tears that just would not end. I thought I would never be consoled, never love or be loved as deeply as I had in the preceding two years. No one would understand, no one would care, no one would come to my rescue.
But that day, I gave it time – I sat on my perch by the sea and allowed myself to be washed until I could see clearly. I saw seagulls diving into the sea for their dinner. I saw a man and his dog playing catch with a piece of driftwood. Suddenly the grey clouds broke, and I saw blue sky. More people came strolling along the beach, some holding hands, stopping for a quick kiss before they proceeded. Instead of sadness, I felt happiness for them. I saw a beautiful sunset.
I had survived the day, and I knew I would begin a new chapter with hope and faith for the larger, all-encompassing love that would come again. The seaweed that resembled the branches of the willow tree washed back into the sea.
Now, in reflecting on this second beatitude, I focused on the word “weeping”, as I recalled the times I mourned – the times my heart broke – and why some were so much more painful than others. A broken heart – that seems like such a melodramatic metaphor, but in my experience, the pain truly is akin to a broken arm or leg, or some other extreme body pain. I recall the flood of tears I experienced after my father died and I returned to San Francisco, when I was also experiencing a broken relationship – the difficulty breathing, sleeping, eating, and seeing beyond the fog of tears. I sat at the cloudy-grey rocky Pacific coast, letting the angry waves crashing against the rocks bathe me in the mist, melting into the tears that just would not end. I thought I would never be consoled, never love or be loved as deeply as I had in the preceding two years. No one would understand, no one would care, no one would come to my rescue.
But that day, I gave it time – I sat on my perch by the sea and allowed myself to be washed until I could see clearly. I saw seagulls diving into the sea for their dinner. I saw a man and his dog playing catch with a piece of driftwood. Suddenly the grey clouds broke, and I saw blue sky. More people came strolling along the beach, some holding hands, stopping for a quick kiss before they proceeded. Instead of sadness, I felt happiness for them. I saw a beautiful sunset.
I had survived the day, and I knew I would begin a new chapter with hope and faith for the larger, all-encompassing love that would come again. The seaweed that resembled the branches of the willow tree washed back into the sea.
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