From Medford, New Jersey
Dust Collectors
Last evening, I observed my faint breath draw upon dimming candle light. I reclined heavily, feeling my heart’s familiar whisper. The morning window donned its dark veil, and momentarily the specious illusion of blindness set in. I lay quietly, open-eyed, discovering comfort within my discomfort, allowing opaqueness to willingly lead me across tears of unknowing, an acquiescent trust, exhaustibly resigned.
By the light of day, I’m rather convinced, within the well of my own intuition, none among us can define, distinguish or inhabit another’s grief, struggle or depression. Surely, the world holds real-time places to assemble for group support, and online forums to discuss, ruminate, resonate or simply vent our penetrating concerns.
Yet, from numerous pharmaceutical interventions to specific behavioral therapies, from simple tools (vigorous exercise, guided meditation, deep tissue massage) to (often unwarranted) advice, it is specifically, the singular simple act of LISTENING which lends itself to potent healing. To bear witness to another’s pain, sans judgment or an eagerness to ‘fix’, to hold them in the light of their Being, to truly listen without expectation of the next moment’s reveal, is a benevolent gift to both.
Emotions, thoughts and behaviors are authentic, but do not define us, nor comprise composition; their fluidity doesn’t lend itself to a foundational structure. Fundamentally, they are not who we are. In more peaceful states, I recall an ancient, masterful Completeness, before seeding and rooting, ethereal, whole Divine Stardust.
Yet, how can I tell myself (all of) this when I am hurting so? And more importantly, between what I fervently believe and that which I’ve not been made aware of...how may I relay to you...the treasure of you...before me? I ask myself, if this be my purpose, where do I begin? Or have I always been steadily on this path, desiring to shine a light on places you’ve forgotten.....accompanied by my (great) Sadness, all along?!
I can’t speak for the ways in which others sculpt until they uncover happiness on their own terms. Presently, I’m uncertain if my own despair has led to an inadvertent strength, a profusion of empathy in a seemingly often unkind world. Yet, if destined to drink in deeply, digest coarsely, reflect vividly, express thoughtfully and ‘just’ BE, even within times of struggle, I’ll remain observant. I’ll listen. I’ll write.
And one day, in the course of possibly meeting, I’ll share my Stardust.
Cindy Weinstein currently holds a bachelor’s degree in special education and has worked primarily with the deaf preschool and elementary population. She feels grateful for having witnessed, on numerous occasions, the unique gifts and talents offered by the students in her care. Cindy is our ground reporter for Medford, N.J.