I have been surprised how I can walk through my living garden, even in winter, and the urge to weep bubbles up from somewhere inside. It is a feeling that comes from joy, not sadness. I am suddenly alert the the dam could burst, and the feeling could flow out for the world to see. I fear embarrassment and having to explain something that I am not sure anyone else is feeling.
I looked around the room at the individual members of my Wednesday night Sangha, and I nearly wet myself with tears. Quick, I found the dam, then recovery. I was hanging lights on the edge of my roof, and as I began thinking of the death of my neighbor, Jet, tears crept out at the corners of my eyes. There was no stopping them.
I watched a U-Tube video of a staged exchange on racism. It embodied so much vicious ugliness and inflicted pain. The weepy feeling rose to the surface again, wanting to be released. My whole body resonated with the urge.
Weeping is new and a bit raw for me. I’m not sure if I’m learning how to weep, or if I am unlearning how to not-weep.