In the Middle of the Ocean
All My love. What do you think that means? Only a little love? Only sometimes? Once in a while? If you’re lucky?
When you are in the middle of the sea, you do not see all the waves that lead to shore. You can’t see that far. You are in the middle of the ocean. Yet you can know that the waves you do not see nevertheless lead to shore. They lead you to your desired location. Even when the seas are rough, the waves are leading you.
The waves of life are not always what you covet, and, yet, how can you say they are not the right waves? It is easy, in times of what certainly seems like big trouble, to say, “It is God’s Will,” as if I, God, have a different destiny in mind for you, as if I were a perverse God, an undeniable God that even takes children away from mothers, and mothers away from children, a callous God, an unfeeling God, a cruel God, an irreverent God, so to say.
I do not take your griefs lightly. I would wish that you not grieve, and you, to be honest, would say, “How can I not?” You cannot see the waves as they lap to shore. I do not make light of the anguish that your hearts feel over big and little engagements in your lives. There are times you feel that your heart breaks and then something more heartbreaking happens, and then your earlier hurt assumes a lesser place in the scale of hurts.
As a child, you did not get the candy you wanted, and you were heartbroken. You could not understand. There was something you wanted, and it was right there, and your Mommy or Daddy would not give it to you.
Or there was a rose you wanted to pick, and you were denied the rose as well.
And then there was a love you wanted, and you couldn’t have it.
There are other tragedies in life, you never see the wisdom of. You never see the use. Nothing palliates your hurting heart. There is no answer you can find to the question why, for example, why did he die? All that you know, from everything you know, is that he did die, and this hurts. Are there relative degrees of hurt? Yes, there are, and yet hurt is hurt.
You know My answer. There is no death. There is that which seems irrevocably like death. Life on Earth is an interlude. Death of the body is incidental, beloveds. It is not the tragedy you feel it is. Life for you is made up of good, bad, and not so good or not so bad, yet death of the body of a loved one is not a cruel cut of the surgeon’s knife.
To one like you, however, how can you possibly think, let alone feel, that it is all right? Yet your loved one has reached harbors so beyond your reach and vision that you cannot even quite imagine them. What if what you call death is an occasion for joy? What if it could be? In any case, dear ones, it is not the bludgeoning that you presently think. Death of the body does not have the finality you think it does. It is an opening. It is not meant to hurt you or the one who departs his body. The body is big and important to you. The world says death is a huge deadly thing when it is merely passing through a mirror.
And yet you cannot find the comfort. No matter whether it is a young child or an old father, you weep and cannot understand, cannot accept, and so you fight that which is inevitable while you are in a body on Earth. Death of the body is big to you, and yet it is no big thing. It is illusion, beloveds. I do not take anyone away.
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