Often I hear people talk about the concept of “enough”, asking themselves am I enough? Do I feel enough? Did I love them enough? Do I love anyone enough? Does anyone love me enough?…. That there was never enough time, enough conversations, enough sense, touch, feeling or connection…. When without permission the wave came and swept away the thing they were reaching for and they are left asking themselves if it was ever enough.
Do we place enough value on the living and nurture our connections? When did we last listen to the stories of the other, absorb their words and experience? It seems as though as humans we are always searching for more and more connection, knowing it is the thing that nourishes us the most, but the moment connection is lost we are left squarely back in the land of not enough.
How much do we really open ourselves to others and how much do we let other’s see? If we hid ourselves less and opened ourselves more, how might that feel? Scary, vulnerable, exposing – Yes.. but what about grateful, knowing, accepting and loving?
I wouldn’t do the work I do if I didn’t believe that we heal in connection and community. I say this a lot and it hits home every time. So therefore it makes sense to me that we also grieve in connection and community. Every life, the end of every single day, each sunset is an ending.
Beginnings are important, but endings are filled with learning, filled with meaning and yet we push this grief away so often, what if we treasured it instead? Could we get closer to enough?
This post is inspired by the poem “Yes we can talk” by Mark Nepo
Having loved enough and lost enough, I am no longer searching, just opening. No longer trying to make sense of pain, but trying to be a soft and sturdy home in which real things can land. These are the irritations that rub into a pearl So we can talk awhile but then we must listen, the way rocks listen to the sea And we can churn at all that goes wrong but then we must lay all distractions down, and water every living seed. And yes, on nights like tonight I too feel alone, but seldom do I face it squarely enough to see that it is a door into the endless breath that has no breather into the surf that human shells call god. By Mark Nepo.
