Precipice of Grief

I’m on the precipice of feeling sorry for myself. Do I let myself grieve or is that giving in? It is the westerner in me to want to climb out of this pit of sorrow, and the easterner in me that whispers softly, “let go.”

I don’t know which I’m to follow.

What happens if I don’t do either? Isn’t survival the act of holding onto that edge? Were I to let go, I’d fall. If I were to climb out, though, then what?

But what if there is the soft pillow of nothingness underneath me? It would feel so sweet to lay back and fall in surrender.

What would be above the ledge of grief if I were to climb out? Another pit to stumble upon, surely, but many more beautiful views to be had as well.

There is hell above as easily as there is heaven below.

So, I’ll just hold on. I won’t let go. I won’t climb out. I’ll just dream of the nothingness below me and the everything above.


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