Comments on: The Poetry of Loss http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss Essays on the Poetry of Loss Wed, 01 May 2013 01:52:02 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.4.2 By: Giving Thanks – No Matter What | Burning Down the House http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-2137 Giving Thanks – No Matter What | Burning Down the House Thu, 22 Nov 2012 20:27:25 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-2137 [...] and the cloudless blue sky that typifies a Colorado Thanksgiving Day. And I thought, You know, like Rumi said, it’s all about welcoming what comes knocking at the door, the “invited and the [...] [...] and the cloudless blue sky that typifies a Colorado Thanksgiving Day. And I thought, You know, like Rumi said, it’s all about welcoming what comes knocking at the door, the “invited and the [...]

]]> By: Jared http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-1429 Jared Thu, 29 Dec 2011 19:48:46 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-1429 I think you made a very insightful point about "The freedom of no-things. Who are we when we have no “stuff"". In one sense of course why should need the material items of life, there is truth to that, that our lives and relationships and a greater purpose are most important. However, life on earth is a physical, material existence and therefor "stuff" is meaningful and important in a real and spiritual way as well. I can't imagine experiencing what you have experienced, I hope your life becomes better and better in a real way. I think you made a very insightful point about “The freedom of no-things. Who are we when we have no “stuff”". In one sense of course why should need the material items of life, there is truth to that, that our lives and relationships and a greater purpose are most important. However, life on earth is a physical, material existence and therefor “stuff” is meaningful and important in a real and spiritual way as well. I can’t imagine experiencing what you have experienced, I hope your life becomes better and better in a real way.

]]> By: monique hersh http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-1400 monique hersh Sat, 17 Dec 2011 21:40:54 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-1400 My daughter sent me your blog the other day and said," Here, read this." We lost our home and six family pets to fire a year ago February 18, 2010. I had left my ancient mother, who was living with us, with a caregiver for a few hours and I too got that call while on the road, stuck in rush hour traffic. " Monique, I've got your mom and the dogs in the car and your house is burning. Call 911." I'll never forget those words as long as I live. They made it out but we lost six pets, one of which was our sweet lab Ruby, four sweet cats, and an old parrot, Poco. Lost also forty plus years of collections of primitive furniture, amateur works of art and folk art. All my photography, all my slides. All the writing and poems. Not to mention the house we had built and lived in and loved for ten years. Th0ugh we have rebuilt and dealt with the insurance company I feel like I am spinning around in useless circles even now, almost two years later. Shattered and scattered. More than anything we suffer from fatigue. I've never been so tired in all my life. Your words about looking for faucets and other plumbing supplies were my words verbatim. I too drive down the road and sob from some deep down place I never knew before. And when finally I find that joyful moment, I almost feel guilty and wonder do I dare allow myself to be so frivolous. And yes, I've gone for therapy. Her advice was to go home, throw on some black and learn how to grieve. And so I did. She's right, we no longer find the time for grieving in this hectic and too fast paced electronic age we live in. Your blog on stuff and the Rumi poem....thanks so much for sharing. Since the fire I find that shopping wears me out. We had gift certificates from caring friends and family and yet we felt uncomfortable in the stores and couldn't wait to get out. What caught my eye in Rumi's poem were the lines "He may be clearing you out, for some new delight.". I thought about that so many times, especially right after the fire, when trying to wrap my head around the the loss. I even consulted with a very well respected psychic a couple of months after the fire as there seemed so many unanswered questions. Then nine months later we became grandparents for the first time to twins, a grandaughter and grandson. The phoenix, rising up out of the ashes. We've never known such joy! I look back and think, wow, what a yin yang year it was. Rumi was right, "some new delight"! Eli and Ellie are a year old now and when I am with them time does stand still and all else fades away into nothingness. It has been an interesting journey in so many ways. We live on a small horsefarm. The morning after the fire I drove up to the barn to feed horses. It was still dark and 3 dgrees outside. I wore what I had on the day before, jeans, turtleneck, socks, clogs and a sweater jacket, a sterling silver bracelet with turquoise and sterling earrings. Dressed for town, feeding horses. A car drove up our long driveway. It was a neighbor from down the road who had horses at the thoroughbred training center across the road from us. She had seen our barn lights on. She asked what could she do for us? And I began hesitantly, " Well, I really don't know. Not even sure how to put one foot in front of the other right now. All I do know is that we are going to get very, very busy and here I am with my 82 year old mom with her walker, the clothes on on backs and I don't know how or where to begin." After which I'm sobbing and apologizing. Then as if a star fell from the heavens above she tells me that she and her husband are in the nursing home industry and that she will make a few calls. So I go on feeding horses while she sits in her car making calls. Twenty minutes later she comes into the barn and tells me that she has found an apt. for my mom at an assisted living facility, and that if I am okay with it she will follow me back to the motel and take my mother to this place, get her settled. She'll be safe, warm and cared for. And so I let this almost stranger take my mom and get her settled in. My mom is there today, living at an assist level one, very content with her life and at peace. She has lived to see her great grandbabies. They are the apple of her eye, so to speak. I always think back to that morning in disbelief. It was the greatest gift ever. People really do reach out, even perfect strangers, when tragedy strikes. Your blog certainly does hit home. Even your photos. I've written some here and there since the fire but mainly I have documented with photography. Some of your photos were like mine, especially sifting through the ashes. That is how I found Ruby. We weren't sure if she had gotten out or not. The caregiver insisted that all five dogs had gotten out but Ruby was missing. Six weeks later as spring temperatures warmed the earth I could smell her. With rake and shovel I worked in the area of debris where I knew she had been, the mudroom. I realized one day as I was driving that Ruby didn't run out of the house with the other dogs because it was feed time. She often stayed behind in the mudroom while the other dogs would follow me out to get their food which we stored in the carriage house. The house burned down around feed time. So she succombed to the smoke, as did the other pets mentioned above. I found her, almost perfectly preserved by the ashes around her and the cold. This all while sobbing . I hauled her out on our plastic worksled, by myself, (I weigh about 104 soaking wet) and called a good friend of mine to come and help me bury her. I could go on and on, the thougths come like unwanted flood waters though I try and keep the flood gates up most of the time. I'll never ever forget. The fire was caused by carelessness on the caregiver's part. An unthinking moment, that is all it took, " a stupid mistake" as the detective called it. So much devastation and pain. And then the long journey ahead. I had certainly never intended to ever build a house again. It's a lot of work! Sometimes I question having rebuilt. But we love the farm and it's a great place for kids and grandkids. I have fond memories of my own grandparents farm and want our own grandbabies to have that experience too. And the horses, amen for them. They and the routine chores are what grounded me while going through this ordeal. I even managed to plant a garden during the summer and set up a home office in a little room off the carriage house so I could stay on the farm during the day and oversee the building and the farm when not on the road. One foot in front of the other, that's how it gets done. My daughter sent me your blog the other day and said,” Here, read this.”
We lost our home and six family pets to fire a year ago February 18, 2010. I had left my ancient mother, who was living with us, with a caregiver for a few hours and I too got that call while on the road, stuck in rush hour traffic. ” Monique, I’ve got your mom and the dogs in the car and your house is burning. Call 911.” I’ll never forget those words as long as I live. They made it out but we lost six pets, one of which was our sweet lab Ruby, four sweet cats, and an old parrot, Poco. Lost also forty plus years of collections of primitive furniture, amateur works of art and folk art. All my photography, all my slides. All the writing and poems. Not to mention the house we had built and lived in and loved for ten years. Th0ugh we have rebuilt and dealt with the insurance company I feel like I am spinning around in useless circles even now, almost two years later. Shattered and scattered. More than anything we suffer from fatigue. I’ve never been so tired in all my life. Your words about looking for faucets and other plumbing supplies were my words verbatim. I too drive down the road and sob from some deep down place I never knew before. And when finally I find that joyful moment, I almost feel guilty and wonder do I dare allow myself to be so frivolous. And yes, I’ve gone for therapy. Her advice was to go home, throw on some black and learn how to grieve. And so I did. She’s right, we no longer find the time for grieving in this hectic and too fast paced electronic age we live in.
Your blog on stuff and the Rumi poem….thanks so much for sharing. Since the fire I find that shopping wears me out. We had gift certificates from caring friends and family and yet we felt uncomfortable in the stores and couldn’t wait to get out.
What caught my eye in Rumi’s poem were the lines “He may be clearing you out, for some new delight.”. I thought about that so many times, especially right after the fire, when trying to wrap my head around the the loss. I even consulted with a very well respected psychic a couple of months after the fire as there seemed so many unanswered questions. Then nine months later we became grandparents for the first time to twins, a grandaughter and grandson. The phoenix, rising up out of the ashes. We’ve never known such joy! I look back and think, wow, what a yin yang year it was. Rumi was right, “some new delight”! Eli and Ellie are a year old now and when I am with them time does stand still and all else fades away into nothingness.
It has been an interesting journey in so many ways. We live on a small horsefarm. The morning after the fire I drove up to the barn to feed horses. It was still dark and 3 dgrees outside. I wore what I had on the day before, jeans, turtleneck, socks, clogs and a sweater jacket, a sterling silver bracelet with turquoise and sterling earrings. Dressed for town, feeding horses. A car drove up our long driveway. It was a neighbor from down the road who had horses at the thoroughbred training center across the road from us. She had seen our barn lights on. She asked what could she do for us? And I began hesitantly, ” Well, I really don’t know. Not even sure how to put one foot in front of the other right now. All I do know is that we are going to get very, very busy and here I am with my 82 year old mom with her walker, the clothes on on backs and I don’t know how or where to begin.” After which I’m sobbing and apologizing. Then as if a star fell from the heavens above she tells me that she and her husband are in the nursing home industry and that she will make a few calls. So I go on feeding horses while she sits in her car making calls. Twenty minutes later she comes into the barn and tells me that she has found an apt. for my mom at an assisted living facility, and that if I am okay with it she will follow me back to the motel and take my mother to this place, get her settled. She’ll be safe, warm and cared for. And so I let this almost stranger take my mom and get her settled in. My mom is there today, living at an assist level one, very content with her life and at peace. She has lived to see her great grandbabies. They are the apple of her eye, so to speak. I always think back to that morning in disbelief. It was the greatest gift ever. People really do reach out, even perfect strangers, when tragedy strikes.
Your blog certainly does hit home. Even your photos. I’ve written some here and there since the fire but mainly I have documented with photography. Some of your photos were like mine, especially sifting through the ashes. That is how I found Ruby. We weren’t sure if she had gotten out or not. The caregiver insisted that all five dogs had gotten out but Ruby was missing. Six weeks later as spring temperatures warmed the earth I could smell her. With rake and shovel I worked in the area of debris where I knew she had been, the mudroom. I realized one day as I was driving that Ruby didn’t run out of the house with the other dogs because it was feed time. She often stayed behind in the mudroom while the other dogs would follow me out to get their food which we stored in the carriage house. The house burned down around feed time. So she succombed to the smoke, as did the other pets mentioned above. I found her, almost perfectly preserved by the ashes around her and the cold. This all while sobbing . I hauled her out on our plastic worksled, by myself, (I weigh about 104 soaking wet) and called a good friend of mine to come and help me bury her.
I could go on and on, the thougths come like unwanted flood waters though I try and keep the flood gates up most of the time. I’ll never ever forget. The fire was caused by carelessness on the caregiver’s part. An unthinking moment, that is all it took, ” a stupid mistake” as the detective called it. So much devastation and pain. And then the long journey ahead. I had certainly never intended to ever build a house again. It’s a lot of work! Sometimes I question having rebuilt. But we love the farm and it’s a great place for kids and grandkids. I have fond memories of my own grandparents farm and want our own grandbabies to have that experience too. And the horses, amen for them. They and the routine chores are what grounded me while going through this ordeal. I even managed to plant a garden during the summer and set up a home office in a little room off the carriage house so I could stay on the farm during the day and oversee the building and the farm when not on the road. One foot in front of the other, that’s how it gets done.

]]> By: Jake http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-1159 Jake Tue, 06 Sep 2011 21:17:52 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-1159 I have to be honest, I didn't read the poem but I did read your story and it touched me. I've lived that way myself, never gathering things, or "nesting" as my ex would say. I've never put a picture on a wall, or signed a lease beyond 6 months. It's a lousy way to live, and I don't think I could change it...I'm sad I have to be honest, I didn’t read the poem but I did read your story and it touched me. I’ve lived that way myself, never gathering things, or “nesting” as my ex would say. I’ve never put a picture on a wall, or signed a lease beyond 6 months. It’s a lousy way to live, and I don’t think I could change it…I’m sad

]]> By: Andi http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-1044 Andi Thu, 28 Jul 2011 16:37:28 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-1044 Thanks for stopping by and commenting, Michael. I appreciate hearing about your relationship to "stuff." I think a lot of folks would envy your freedom and detachment! Take good care, Andi Thanks for stopping by and commenting, Michael. I appreciate hearing about your relationship to “stuff.” I think a lot of folks would envy your freedom and detachment!
Take good care,

Andi

]]> By: Michael-StrataManagement http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-1030 Michael-StrataManagement Thu, 14 Jul 2011 07:35:13 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-1030 Andi, when I read this: <i>"he owned exactly four suits, a couple of golf outfits, two sets of gold cufflinks and a sports car. My mother used to say that if he ever decided to leave us, he could pack in five minutes"</i>, I realised that I am the same. I'm 57 and I own 2 pairs of shoes, 1 suit, 2 pairs of jeans, about 10 work shirts and 10 ties, some undies (but not many really), a robe, a laptop computer, about 10 music CD's, a couple of Movie DVD's and a mobile phone - and that's about it. I don't even actually own the house I live in as it's in my wife's name - as our two cars. 'Stuff' has never really been something I have focused on and I don't really know if that a good or bad thing. All I know is I don't want for much - and I suppose I've never really been 'trapped' by stuff. Anyway, I hope all is well with you now and that things are on the up and up for you. God bless, MichaelV <a href="http://www.strataman.com.au/StrataManagement.html" rel="nofollow">Strata Management</a> Andi,
when I read this: “he owned exactly four suits, a couple of golf outfits, two sets of gold cufflinks and a sports car. My mother used to say that if he ever decided to leave us, he could pack in five minutes”, I realised that I am the same.

I’m 57 and I own 2 pairs of shoes, 1 suit, 2 pairs of jeans, about 10 work shirts and 10 ties, some undies (but not many really), a robe, a laptop computer, about 10 music CD’s, a couple of Movie DVD’s and a mobile phone – and that’s about it. I don’t even actually own the house I live in as it’s in my wife’s name – as our two cars.

‘Stuff’ has never really been something I have focused on and I don’t really know if that a good or bad thing. All I know is I don’t want for much – and I suppose I’ve never really been ‘trapped’ by stuff.

Anyway, I hope all is well with you now and that things are on the up and up for you.
God bless,

MichaelV
Strata Management

]]> By: The Nature of Impermanence | Burning Down the House http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-792 The Nature of Impermanence | Burning Down the House Wed, 02 Mar 2011 05:17:37 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-792 [...] all this stuff FOR?”  As I re-acclimated to life “in the world,” I realized that you need stuff to make a life. You need all those dishes for when you have a big dinner party, and you need all those mugs to [...] [...] all this stuff FOR?”  As I re-acclimated to life “in the world,” I realized that you need stuff to make a life. You need all those dishes for when you have a big dinner party, and you need all those mugs to [...]

]]> By: Laurel Kallenbach http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-81 Laurel Kallenbach Mon, 25 Oct 2010 16:35:58 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-81 Now that I'm reading your essay, I feel so burdened by stuff. Yes, there are plenty of material items that I treasure--that complete some essential part of myself. Yet, the other less-necessary things weigh me down. I'm thinking of the Hindu goddess Kali, who I have sitting on my desk. She is a Destroyer; she burns away illusions. She wears a necklace of skulls around her neck. Why do I have such a garish goddess in my house? Because life requires death; something must disappear in order to make space for new creation. No one needs or deserves to lose their home to fire. Yet here you are experiencing the freedom of no-stuff. I thank Kali this fire has not happened to me. And I pledge to clean out some cabinets and a closet. Soon. Now that I’m reading your essay, I feel so burdened by stuff. Yes, there are plenty of material items that I treasure–that complete some essential part of myself. Yet, the other less-necessary things weigh me down.
I’m thinking of the Hindu goddess Kali, who I have sitting on my desk. She is a Destroyer; she burns away illusions. She wears a necklace of skulls around her neck. Why do I have such a garish goddess in my house? Because life requires death; something must disappear in order to make space for new creation.
No one needs or deserves to lose their home to fire. Yet here you are experiencing the freedom of no-stuff.
I thank Kali this fire has not happened to me. And I pledge to clean out some cabinets and a closet. Soon.

]]> By: Andi http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-46 Andi Fri, 22 Oct 2010 05:07:09 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-46 Thanks so much, Amy! Sending love to you out there in California. Say hi to the Great Mother Ocean for me, and take good care. I hope all is well. Thanks so much, Amy! Sending love to you out there in California. Say hi to the Great Mother Ocean for me, and take good care. I hope all is well.

]]> By: Andi http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/the-poetry-of-loss#comment-45 Andi Fri, 22 Oct 2010 05:05:43 +0000 http://www.burningdownthehouseblog.com/?p=40#comment-45 Hi Priscilla, Thanks for making such an insightful connection. I can't remember if it was Rumi or Pema Chodron who said that when unwanted emotions come up, we should open the door and say, "Ah! You again!" I will always remember that, and try to practice it when I can. Take good care. Hi Priscilla, Thanks for making such an insightful connection. I can’t remember if it was Rumi or Pema Chodron who said that when unwanted emotions come up, we should open the door and say, “Ah! You again!” I will always remember that, and try to practice it when I can. Take good care.

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