#172 The Language We Speak When Words Tremble
Paper, Poems, and Tender Heartwork
Dearest,
Last week, we held a workshop on Touching the Language of Grief.
Grief is such a complicated emotion that you cannot possibly untangle it in a couple of hours. But that wasn’t the goal anyway.
To be honest, there is no goal.
However, the idea was to be gentle with our grief for a while, in hope that it will reveal something to us.
We began by exploring the colors of grief.
Some described it as jamun-purple—a color that stains your tongue yet allows a playful moment of vulnerability.
Others saw grief as white, that luminous shade containing all colors, holding complexity within its seeming simplicity.
One participant beautifully articulated grief as a glass of water where painting brushes have been repeatedly washed—transforming from crystal clarity to something beautifully murky.
Words became our next terrain.
We selected words that captured our inner landscapes, then released those feelings onto paper—that miraculous act of letting grief flow, if only temporarily, outside ourselves.
We immersed ourselves in poetry, engaged in visual explorations, and concluded with "heartwork"—homework for the heart.
But that’s just the skeleton of the workshop.
The workshop's true magic resided in its participants—folks brave enough to bring their raw, unfiltered hearts into a shared space. We cried at different moments, laughed unexpectedly, and sent virtual embraces recognizing each other's courage.
So, dearest, if you haven't yet joined such a gathering, I urge you: show up next time. The magic awaits—and you will be its creator. :)
Some of the poems on grief that we discussed
By Langston Hughes
I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say.
The poem ends,
Soft as it began,—
I loved my friend.
By Noor Unnahar
By Julia Kasdorf
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See you next Sunday,
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