I just signed out of a Zoom meeting with Mirabai Starr and Willow Brook, a gathering called The Sacred Art of Grieving. 

Mirabai read a poem by Rumi. I don’t know if this is exactly the same translation…but you’ll get the point.

The grapes of my body 

The grapes of my body can only become wine
After the winemaker tramples me.
I surrender my spirit like grapes to his trampling
So my inmost heart can blaze and dance with joy.
Although the grapes go on weeping blood and sobbing
“I cannot bear any more anguish, any more cruelty”
The trampler stuffs cotton in his ears: “I am not working in ignorance
You can deny me if you want, you have every excuse,
But it is I who am the Master of this Work.
And when through my Passion you reach Perfection,
You will never be done praising my name.”

(This English version is by Andrew Harve, Original Language Persian/Farsi & Turkish)

She then gave us a prompt and time to write. The prompt was: “I surrender”.

Here is what I wrote:

Ugh. My immediate reaction is How Dare You?! How dare you stomp on my heart and call it Love! What is the meaning of this torture? What?! Am I to be grateful that you took my son? That you left me with this broken bleeding heart?! How fucking dare you?!

My heart, mashed and smashed beneath your feet? Do you take pleasure in my brokenness? My weeping and wailing? The complete and utter rending of my heart and soul. The loss of my son. The loss of his future….