Non-specific grief as random acts of love

Non-specific grief if when you catch yourself feeling so sad about…what?

It could be this. It could be that. Or, it could be all of it. Or none of it. It could be your ancestral inheritance washing through you. Asking for you to feel and to let go. Of feelings through a window screen rather than locked behind a closed door.

Trying to connect it to an event is like giving it an invitation to stay.

Being blue

In most, if not all indigenous cultures, the naming of something is what gave it life. Without a name it couldn’t exist. So we learned to name everything. Here’s the catch though, if there was something outside of our known experience, it was as if it wasn’t there. So, no name. No existence.

Once upon a time this included the color blue., and how language effected our ability to detect color. Without a word for the color blue, even though the sky overhead is to us, in this moment, the bluest of blues, what else might or might not exist for it’s naming?

Grief by any other name

Is it non-specific grief, or is it love, or is it something else? Can we feel blue if we can’t see the color blue? And if we decide that by feeling blue, or non-specific grief, we must then name the reason for it, have we just made a more permanent home for something we’d rather not be feeling anyway?

I’ve decided that the reason is far less important than being mindful of the transient quality of non-specific grief. I don’t need to know why. I can feel it, then I can let it continue on.

Because, really…

If we can practice random acts of kindness, which in truth are acts of love, we can also practice random acts of non-specific grief. Which makes an ironic kind of sense as our grief is an act of love when who or what we loved is no longer there. check out photos of my land before and after the lava

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