Grief lives here, sparkling.

Life ought to be a struggle of desire toward adventures whose nobility will fertilize the soul.

-Rebecca West

The quality of light coming in through my window is dark and dank, cheap and easy. It reflects night to me. I can see my face in it. It is viscous. I see it.

I remember the way he touched my cheek. The deep light in his eyes as he looked directly through my paper skin, into my soul, waiting to be excavated.

Grief lasts for many long years. It ebbs and flows like the ocean. Climbs heights and scales depths like the mountains underneath the surface of the water.

Grief is not only sad. It is every descriptive word, of every variety and implication.

It lives here permanently. It is a way of life. But still, sparkling heights are available. Even within this slow song-dance of grief (which everyone defines and lives differently.)

The whole world is available to an open soul.

Diamond caves are tucked into the murky, crowded cities of seaweed under the surface. Always hidden away, but startlingly present, and accessible to those who spend a little time in the search.

All is well

in the darkness

as well as in the light.

Nothing goes unseen, or lies wasted by the roadside.

All is seen

I am here

I am alive.

Grief is the carrier which has taken me to every place I ever wanted to go to. It has been the teacher which has brought light and dark together. It has been my school for ten long years. The cost not in money - but in time, reputation, energy, emotion, thought.

The result being that I am a more brilliant, shining human being, than before.

I am awake.

Before, life moved me. Now, I move life.

I am a power.

I choose the crystal caverns. There where the dark is just as beautiful, just as necessary, as the light.

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