recently an acquaintance shared with me a poem that her late husband wrote shortly before his death. he knew he was dying and found space in his heart.
I would know my shadow and my light.So shall I at last be whole.Then, courage brother, dare the grave passage.Here is no final grieving,But an abiding hope.
(sadly, i don’t know his name, so i can’t attribute this writing to his memory. i can only thank him every time i read it.)light and shadow.
that which we acknowledge and love about ourselves and that which we prefer not to see…yet in the knowing, the deep honouring, of all of ourselves lies the space in the heart for courage and abiding hope.as he faced his death, probably with many feelings and sensations, this man found openness and willingness. he doesn’t ask us to reject grieving. he knows his dear ones will grieve. but he asks that the grieving not be final, not be immutable. he asks that there be space, space for love.he knew, maybe for many years or maybe only for a short time, that both the light and the shadow are essential to our wholeness. on our precious planet it is the sun that causes shadow. and how grateful we are for shade on a hot day.
yet we reject and ostracise our internal shadow.these are the gritty bits of ourselves that create the spark for the light. they are the places we rub up against in others and in ourselves. often the confrontation with shadow is painful. and yet, it is the heart of our growth and evolution.elders often have the opportunity to look deeply into the shadow, and to heal the places that grate, that irritate, that hurt. we have time and space to contemplate the ways in which the shadow might have wrought havoc in our lives. we still have time and space to make amends and to re-frame those experiences.we have time and space to dare to find abiding hope.we have time and space to dare to love.