"As you breathe in, cherish yourself. As you breathe out, cherish all beings."
His Holiness, the Dalai Lama
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"Once you give your love, it must be forever. Not because you want to be near that person, but because you want perfection for that soul. To wish for perfection for the loved one, and to feel pure joy in thinking of that soul, is divine love; and that is the love of true friendship." - Paramahansa Yogananda
Praise goddess, I have accepted it's over and, and this has been very hard, I have accepted that he will not have a state of grace conversation. His refusal to do so is actually a kind of gift. His refusal shows me he does not love or care about me. Why keep investing my emotional energy in longing for someone who won't even give me a state of grace conversation?
Grieving a break-up of a friendship
- The person left behind is unable to admit that the friendship is really over. They may continue to call the former friend even though that person wants to be left alone. Instead they may deny their feelings and not admit that they are upset about it at all. NOTE: I never denied I was upset and I did continue to phone this former friend intermittently.
- The partner left behind may feel angry for the pain the leaving partner causes them. The partner left also might blame himself/herself. NOTE: I felt anger towards the former friend and anger towards myself. I blamed myself, took all responsibility for the failure of our friendship to thrive. I was really unkind to myself.
- After, the anger stage, the one left behind may plead with their former partner by promising that whatever caused the breakup will never happen again. Example: “I can change. Please give me a chance." NOTE: I have never believed the friendship could be restored but this former friend once agreed to have a state of grace conversation with me. It's been a year since he broke off our friendship. He ignores my many requests for one state of grace conversation. I thought if I were cheerful, upbeat and persistent, he would keep his word and have one peacemaking conversation. Accepting that he would not do something he agreed to do was as hard as accepting the loss of his friendship. Maybe even harder.
- Next, the person might feel discouraged that his or her bargaining plea did not convince the former partner to stay. This may send the person into depression causing disruption to life functions such as sleeping, eating and even daily bowel movements. NOTE: only the loss of my daughter has prodded deeper depression in me. I had truly believed this friend loved me. He had said so many times, once writing that he felt unshakeable love for me. It was so hard to accept that he would not have a state of grace conversation. I think it was harder to accept this refusal than to accept his decision to sever the friendship. I was unhappy in the friendship, too.
- Moving on from the situation and the person is the last stage. The person left behind accepts that the friendship is over and begins to move forward with his or her life. She or he may not be completely over the situation but is weary of going back and forth, so much so that they can accept the separation as reality.
You are a ruby embedded in granite.
How long will you pretend it’s not true?
We can see it in your eyes.
Come to the root of the root of your Self.
Clarissa Pinkola Estes: Persons called to this work typically feel relentless sensations of broken-heartedness about the state of the world, but also carry an unshakable and inspired hope for humankind. There may be anger as well. The seemingly contradictory but powerful forces of the broken heart commingled with hope are the enduring underpinnings for effecting ongoing and positive change.
Interviewer: You are saying that the social activist has a broken heart?
Clarissa Pinkola Estes: Yes, a heart that is broken open -- and stays broken open -- a soul alert to its calling.
Telling the BeesDeborah Digges, 1950 - 2009It fell to me to tell the bees, though I had wanted another duty— to be the scribbler at his death, there chart the third day’s quickening. But fate said no, it falls to you to tell the bees, the middle daughter. So it was written at your birth. I wanted to keep the fire, working the constant arranging and shifting of the coals blown flaring, my cheeks flushed red, my bed laid down before the fire, myself anonymous among the strangers there who’d come and go. But destiny said no. It falls to you to tell the bees, it said. I wanted to be the one to wash his linens, boiling the death-soiled sheets, using the waters for my tea. I might have been the one to seal his solitude with mud and thatch and string, the webs he parted every morning, the hounds’ hair combed from brushes, the dust swept into piles with sparrows’ feathers. Who makes the laws that live inside the brick and mortar of a name, selects the seeds, garden or wild, brings forth the foliage grown up around it through drought or blight or blossom, the honey darkening in the bitter years, the combs like funeral lace or wedding veils steeped in oak gall and rainwater, sequined of rent wings. And so arrayed I set out, this once obedient, toward the hives’ domed skeps on evening’s hill, five tombs alight. I thought I heard the thrash and moaning of confinement, beyond the century, a calling across dreams, as if asked to make haste just out of sleep. I knelt and waited. The voice that found me gave the news. Up flew the bees toward his orchards.