Somewhere behind You There Is a Sea
Somewhere behind you there is a sea.
Every time a young girl felt too unsafe, shameful, or embarrassed to cry, those tears found their way to the sea. Every time a father said to “suck it up or I’ll give you something to cry about,” the tears found their way to the sea. Every time a little boy was told it was weak or foolish, in the face of hurt, of pain, those unspent tears trickled down and found a creek, joined a stream, met up with the river and fed into the sea of tears.
When you heard about the accident, but were too harried to feel, they went to the sea. When you looked into the eyes of the man suffering at the bus stop, but it was too sketchy to be with all the wends of life brought him to this moment of breakdown; when your friend lost a parent, but you didn’t know them that well; when you learned about the school shooting, and it was just too much horror to consider, to process the mountain of pain and loss of all those people you will never know …it all flowed to the sea.
For the spouse or child who was beaten; for the teen who was coerced, hurt, sexually assaulted, raped; for the loved one who died way too soon, beyond sense or understanding; when the tears did come, but there were just too many for one set of eyes, one heart to manage, the rest went to the sea.
How much weight is in the water of that sea? How much pressure is back there waiting behind you? How much salt and cortisol and fear does it hold? How tight and tired are the muscles on the bodies of the souls who try to keep it contained? How many of us have turned our backs, unwilling to even look because it is just so fucking much?
What if every drop from that sea you birth through the vessel of your eyes is a merciful release, an ease to the suffering of someone somewhere?
What is under the pressure of that reservoir? What is that dam holding back in our world? How might the world change if it broke, if those tears were finally loosed, if we all opened our eyes wide and drained that sea?
There is a secret truth that weeping is not weak, but the wild work of warrior poets, quiet giants, and silent saints. The wash of tears on cheeks reveals incredible strength and wondrous beauty.
When we’re hurt, fragile and brittle or bitter, we cry our own tears and sometimes none at all. But when we’re brave enough and vast, we can cry everyone’s.
If you have the support and the space, offer some time to the sea today. Listen for that feeling, the moment where the sadness beckons you. Maybe in a song, maybe a conversation, maybe at some dumb commercial. It doesn’t matter. Your tears are a compass, pointing you toward something vital.
Grieve for someone who couldn’t. Weep for someone who didn’t. Maybe for yourself.
This is most sacred work.
Somewhere behind you is a sea.
