I have no idea where I should put this but it is so lovely
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Naughty Muddy - you have just made me cry! That is really beautiful.
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Beautiful Muddy
I hope you dont mind if I also post more beautiful words. Iâve just read them and they touched me deeply
There will be some very painful moments in your life my friend.
There will be moments, days even,
when the sun doesnât seem to rise in your sky
and the breath feels sucked right out of your lungs.
When food has no taste, the world has no joy
and everything seems like an effort too far.
Yes, my friend, there will be very painful moments in your life.
But you will get through them,
âThis too shall pass.â
Because life has a way of throwing you a rope,
just at the very moment when you thought,
you couldnât swim another stroke.
All you have to do is grab it.
And one day, as is the way of this life,
the sun will suddenly beat down on your face again
and the air will feel fresher than it ever did.
And there will be laughter.
And love.
And joy.
So much joy.
And life will be sweet, like summer after a long winter.
A winter that was so dark each colour that appears,
feels like the first time you are seeing it.
This is when you must live, really live.
For, just as the bad times do not last forever,
neither do the good,
âThis too shall pass.â
But that is life.
So, embrace the joy when it comes and let fear slide away.
And when the dark times come around again,
and they will,
remember you have what you need to survive.
And you will survive my friend, you really will.
Keep the important people close,
focus on what truly matters
and you will find yourself dragged to safety,
each and every time the storms come.
And on those days,
when your sun is high in the sky
but you notice another facing bad weather,
you drop your raft and you go to them.
And if they wonât climb in with you, to safety,
you simply stay with them in the stormy water,
till the sun rises again.
And it will.
it always does.
Donna Ashworth
www.raisingvibrations.com.au
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What beautiful, meaningful words, Muddy and Susan. Thank you.
Makes such a change from all the war talk.
Hope itâs ok to add my little bit from the animal world . . .
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@Muddy lovely words Muddy they reminds me of the words written by Ray Bradbury that I have heard spoken at Humanist committals.
Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, youâre there.
It doesnât matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something thatâs like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.â
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Oh this is a lovely thread
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These are not so much âbeautiful wordsâ, more that they so perfectly describe how grief feels. I came across this piece years ago, and it has always stayed with me. Iâve passed it on to many friends who have always said it is strangely comforting. Because we do find comfort in someone who completely and utterly understands what we are going through; we donât feel so alone.
As for grief, youâll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, youâre drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe itâs some physical thing. Maybe itâs a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe itâs a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and donât even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, youâll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know whatâs going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anythingâŠand the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and itâs different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at OâHare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but youâll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you donât really want them to. But you learn that youâll survive them. And other waves will come. And youâll survive them too. If youâre lucky, youâll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
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Yes, very beautiful words. I loved reading them all.
They are poignant and very movingâŠ
Iâm afraid that I may be about to make some of you feel a little sick now.
The most beautiful words I can think of are:
âI love youâ.
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Thank you for sharing such beautiful words.
Thank you for this, it is lovely.
It brought tears to my eyes, especially the first few lines as I remember my brother who died from Covid just before Christmas
Perhaps I have a heart of stone, but I find it quite meaningless. 
Yes well we canât all be sensitive souls 
No, but I like to think that I care when it counts. 
I found it very moving.
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