Jewels from the Dark

I keep coming back to the last scene in The Death of Robin Hood, where Robin is talking a little girl through how to shoot a final arrow on his behalf as his life blood drains out – a representation of the fullness of his life. It was intense and visceral and lodged itself in my chest. As soon as I left the theater, I quickly paraphrased what Robin said to the best of my memory:

Nock an arrow and pick a point where the seas meet the sky. Aim steady and allow the weight and pressure to dance. Hold…hold until I tell you… There will come a moment when you don’t let go – you just aren’t holding on anymore…¹

This deeply resonated with me then and resonates still. I feel like I nocked the arrow of being a first responder when I was young, picked a point in my life where the seas met the sky, and allowed the weight of the arrow to dance its rhythm through the air. Yet my fingers were weakened by the ravages of life and losing so much of my ability to be part of that world anymore. My “life blood” of identity in that space is still spilling out and I find that I have now come to a moment where I am not letting go…I just cannot hold on any longer.

I find solace in metaphor when life no longer makes sense or the exquisite pain simply overwhelms. So here is my attempt to make it make sense…

Our lives are a tapestry…they are made up of all the strands and threads of what has happened – the choices we make, the people we encounter, the uncontrollable moments where life simply does it’s thang.

In my life’s tapestry, I find some of these threads are bright and colorful. Others are dull and seem to fade into the background. Yet there is one that is dark and rich in color. It seems to show up all throughout the tapestry. In fact, there are certain places where a section seems to be full of different shades of that thick, dark, gorgeous, jarring thread…when you follow that line, it seems incongruent with the bright colors or the dull tones as it weaves in and out. It can almost feel intrusive and…well, ugly at times, if I am being honest.

But when I can zoom out, I see that this dark thread brings depth and boundaries and proper containment and a sense of order to the other colors. It actually provides a framing around the other aspects, giving them a sort of living relief as you take it all in. It is the thread of sorrow – and it is the most costly life-thread known to exist. It is priceless, as to obtain it you often must pay with something most dear to you.

Almost all of us have this thread somewhere in our tapestry. Some young folks have a small tapestry filled almost entirely of the dark thread, as their lives were cut short. Others have a tangled mess right at the bottom where their long tapestry ends. Still others only have a thin line of it woven throughout as they have lived lives with limited touch points of grief and sorrow.

And then there are some of us who have a steady, thick, noticeable strand weaving in and out, touching nearly every corner of our tapestry. It allows shape to rise and takes center stage in many places. It becomes a focal point, but one that adds beauty and depth and somehow does not detract from the overall image of a life well lived.

How does one allow the weaving of that thread? When the thick strand runs thin, the shade running from dark to light as the picture is being more fully formed? How does one hold space for the holding on and letting go? What do we do when we reach the moment where we are not forcing the act of letting go, but instead we lean into the surrender of no longer holding on? What happens in the moment following that? What will the aftermath look like? What will life become?

I nocked my arrow years ago…the weight and pressure of the end dancing to the syncopated rhythm of life. As I held it, I was struck by countless slings and arrows of life being life, but through those moments, I think I lost sight of the place where sky and sea meet. No…I most definitely have lost sight of it and I only feel strain in my muscles and fatigue in my arms as I try desperately to keep a true aim and find my mark. I have exhausted my strength. I am not letting go…I just cannot keep holding on any longer. The arrow is now airborne… The aim was true but where it will land, no one can know for certain.

As I release that part of who I no longer am, I am finding another aspect of who I have always been. One year ago today, I knew deep down in my core that the upcoming year was going to be my great Come Apart. And come apart I did… This year has been one of the most intense years of my life, which is saying a lot. But I embraced the process – I allowed the Come Apart to undo me in whatever ways it chose to do so.

I felt a stirring in my soul last night that the Come Apart was coming to an end (thank God!) and a fresh season was about to begin. I began reading Francis Weller‘s The Wild Edge of Sorrow and was pinned in place with his metaphor of having begun an “apprenticeship with sorrow” and grief.² That resonated so very deeply within me. Then he spoke of what happens when we reach a certain point in our journey and become “elders” of sorrow, speaking fluently the language of grief and loss, leading others to a deeper and richer and more beautiful form of being alive.³ It practically vibrated into my bones as I read his words…

I knew last night – just as certainly of the Come Apart as I was a year ago – that this year will be the year I become an elder of sorrow. Over the course of my life, I have moved through my own apprenticeship and learned to speak the language of sorrow and grief. I have learned to companion others as they sojourn the path through that liminal space of loss, ruins, and rebuilding.⁴ I am finally embracing what I have always felt in my bones and in the deepest core of who I am – I am made for the hard and the dark and the raw and the beauty and the pain. I am here to walk and translate and guide and cheer and support others as they navigate the world, awakening to the deeper parts of being alive.

I have no clue what is in store for me or what else this new year of being alive will ask – demand – from me. But I am sinking into a wild peace I have not known before. As my hands have been freed from the previous arrow, I find a reserve of strength to grasp a new one from the quiver with trembling, broken, bloody fingers. Yet somehow, I nock that new arrow…and I aim for the place where the seas meet the sky…and I let a new rhythm dance…

Tá mé ar mo shuaimhneas.

References of a sort…

1. This is my paraphrase of the final speech from Robin Hood. You can rent the movie on streaming platforms, such as Amazon Prime – https://www.imdb.com/title/tt32273171/
2. Weller, Francis. 2015. The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief. North Atlantic Books. Chapter 1 covers this concept in depth.
3. Ibid, p. 7.
4. Alan Wolfelt has written extensively on the idea of “companioning” someone journeying through grief. You can find out more here – https://www.centerforloss.com/