|The Path Through the Storm|
Or in fiction. Or at least the best of both. A Canadian friend of mine recommended the Louise Penny mystery books to me. I have begun my first, Still Life. And with every page am more and more glad she has written a lot of books about Chief Inspector Gamache's adventures. A well crafted mystery is always an escape from depressing times, and if it is cerebral, intelligent, and filled with compassion I will sign over my life to the world created in words.
Reading such a mystery is not easy or fast because there are references I must look up, vocabulary I must acquaint myself to, and books I must note down for a further read. Or at least determine if they are real or just a part of the fiction. A very good mystery writer not only entangles you in the story but in the ideas put forth in its telling.
One of the well crafted characters in Still Life puts forth a life concept from a book she enjoyed; Life is Loss. And she and Gamache have a discussion on that. I find myself totally in agreement. Welcome or unwelcome, expected or unexpected, material or personal we go from loss to loss. Sometimes joyfully and sometimes reluctantly. But the success of our life is on how we move through our losses. They become part of the tapestry of our lives.
We need awards and photo albums and Time Magazine covers to remember our successes but we carry our losses with us. They are what make us real. They are the basis for art, and poetry, and song. They make us strong and compassionate; they make us human.
We must work through our losses. We cannot get over them or put them behind us. Or medicate them away with Prosaic. They are who we are. They are the fabric of our lives.
I am quite sad at the moment. I have many friends who are also very sad right now. My empathy leads me to cry for them as much as I cry for myself. I eat chocolate, drink coffee, love my fur kids, go into the forest and take pictures, and lose myself in books which speak to my wounded spirit. These are my bandages.