The Soul Blanket
I cut pieces of my soul and wove them into ...
In the quiet hours you come forth like an autumn mist, bending toward the light, weaving around bare, spectral trees.
You do not speak.
Still, you are present.
I cut pieces of my soul and wove them into a blanket to warm you as your life force ebbed.
My tea grows cold. Incense burns, leaving a single column of smoke that spirals to nowhere. The scent of sandalwood lingers. Meditation was fragmented, with memories of hands clasped, a chipped blue and white tea mug—and ah, yes, dancing at midnight.
The voice of depression still calls to me—those days are gone—or so I tell myself. Small things, unholy, that could ruin my life send their invitations: a bauble I don’t need, or tonight, a glass of wine that could unravel my life.
It is said that grief turns us upside down for its first one hundred days.
It is then, weeping into the pillow, that we become right-sized.
It is then that we feel, without illusion, the stark emptiness of loss.
It is then that we fear the hollowness might take us under entirely.
And yet, and yet, the mystics tell us we should not surrender our grief so quickly. It is a nutrient—let it cut more deeply. Let it ferment and season us as few human or divine ingredients can.
Following the intensity of those first months, something new, a small astonishment, opens.
Grief will not end; it changes shape—and it has found form in tenderness and a deep, all-encompassing love, one we did not know was ours. It lives at our core, in our cells, and is born to each of us.
In stillness, every moment opens a small door into ourselves. If we walk into grief and give ourselves fully, it provides fertile ground for what the world cries out for but denies: love beyond skin-to-skin, beyond grasping and belonging. This love is more profound—deeper and higher than earth-bound, fleeting moments.
The experience and the pain are not easy to endure. Grief was mine to live with, as it is for all of us. It can harden our hearts or open them to something unexpected.
Choosing is ours.
I find myself weaving pieces of my soul again—not for the beloved lost, but for the living who still need warmth. The Soul Blanket I once wove with a heart of ruby tears reminds me to keep close these things:
Love more. Love deeply.
Be kinder. Give yourself away.
Love the world more gently.
This really resonated with me. Thank you!
Intensely beautiful. Thank you.