Dear Paul, thank you so much. I think I often tend to spiral a lot in writing, in part since I like to stem my pieces from a place of "seeking" an answer, not having one. In that light, all of you are so important to me in helping me attain some understanding, even over my own thoughts. We are creatures of nurture after all.
Softly,,,,, shhhhh.... It's ok, I am allowed to sense this. I am alright, but its so very hard coming to terms with my grief, and your words are a great comfort... Bless you Akif,,, I am going to listen under our autumn trees by the waters edge, and there allow myself to rekindle Love,
Your writing articulates grief and moreover, it summons it. I feel your prose doesn’t observe from a distance, but walks barefoot across the shards. Grief isn’t an interlude here, it is the tempo, the spine, the pulse. It teaches us how to hold what slips through us.
Your image of grief as the Grand Pas de Deux is achingly precise, and I found myself thinking not of gold-laced pottery, but of antique tapestries — those vast, handwoven chronicles that reveal not just the story, but the labour. Flip one over, and the knots and tangles betray the complexity beneath the beauty. Your words trace that hidden side. The emotional embroidery — the frayed threads, the places where the pattern falters — is just as meaningful as the image on the surface. A life well-lived, like a well-worn tapestry, bears both splendour and snarl.
The child waiting in the gravel (your unacknowledged self) is a witness and a threshold. You return to him not to retrieve what was lost, but to gather what was never claimed. In doing so, you don’t just remember, you re-member. You stitch the fragmented pieces back into wholeness, without pretending they were never torn. Beautiful! The poet in me is moved.
As someone who once lived inside music, inside the exacting language of pliés and port de bras, I know that every movement is a letting go. Nothing lasts — not the leap, not the hold, not the ovation. And yet, we train to give everything to each moment. Dance teaches you that presence is ephemeral. That beauty is brief. That grief, in its strange way, is proof we were fully alive in the moment it all disappeared. I miss my ballet years…. and suddenly I’m back there reading your essay.
You write with an elegance and a style that few can match. This has so much depth, I will need to read it many times. The whole piece “feels” like grief as Tamara mentioned in her comments. And there is a poetic mystery to everything you wrote as well. I’m going back to search for more meaning that is hidden in this gem.
“even if it shakes you awake in the dead of the night, you get up and you dance” relatable on such a personal level but perhaps a grief of losing myself, or even much so my inner child. stricken in the middle of the night by racing thoughts or sleep paralysis, you’re right Akif there is no choice but to get up and dance…even if the dance consists of being paralysed with your eyes open, then i suppose the grief dances around you.
very thought provoking and thoughtful writing by you once again, so many layers to each section, it was a pleasure to read!
may Allah (swt) make it easy for you. look forward to reading more from you InshaAllah
“I’m ashamed that I don’t remember the last time we were together… How long did you wait for me? It must’ve felt like an eternity”
I have had this exact same conversation with my inner child/younger self/forgotten self. The mix of guilt and shame you describe here from abandoning that part of you is so real. Thanks for sharing 🥲
Also, “…grief is playing grave keeper. Someone's got to tend to the roses.
Grief is the humble act of pilgrimage. A return to what once was, to which without, we wouldn't have the slightest clue where we're going.” Thanks for sharing this as well - I really needed to hear my current grief in this perspective of gratitude and love. Obviously the concept is tale as old as time but I needed it worded exactly like this. Thanks ❤️
A very thoughtful piece of writing. Requires a revisit or two. A spiralling perspective.
Dear Paul, thank you so much. I think I often tend to spiral a lot in writing, in part since I like to stem my pieces from a place of "seeking" an answer, not having one. In that light, all of you are so important to me in helping me attain some understanding, even over my own thoughts. We are creatures of nurture after all.
Softly,,,,, shhhhh.... It's ok, I am allowed to sense this. I am alright, but its so very hard coming to terms with my grief, and your words are a great comfort... Bless you Akif,,, I am going to listen under our autumn trees by the waters edge, and there allow myself to rekindle Love,
Thank you Keith! I am so happy to hear this has resonated with you. Wishing you all the best.
Your writing articulates grief and moreover, it summons it. I feel your prose doesn’t observe from a distance, but walks barefoot across the shards. Grief isn’t an interlude here, it is the tempo, the spine, the pulse. It teaches us how to hold what slips through us.
Your image of grief as the Grand Pas de Deux is achingly precise, and I found myself thinking not of gold-laced pottery, but of antique tapestries — those vast, handwoven chronicles that reveal not just the story, but the labour. Flip one over, and the knots and tangles betray the complexity beneath the beauty. Your words trace that hidden side. The emotional embroidery — the frayed threads, the places where the pattern falters — is just as meaningful as the image on the surface. A life well-lived, like a well-worn tapestry, bears both splendour and snarl.
The child waiting in the gravel (your unacknowledged self) is a witness and a threshold. You return to him not to retrieve what was lost, but to gather what was never claimed. In doing so, you don’t just remember, you re-member. You stitch the fragmented pieces back into wholeness, without pretending they were never torn. Beautiful! The poet in me is moved.
As someone who once lived inside music, inside the exacting language of pliés and port de bras, I know that every movement is a letting go. Nothing lasts — not the leap, not the hold, not the ovation. And yet, we train to give everything to each moment. Dance teaches you that presence is ephemeral. That beauty is brief. That grief, in its strange way, is proof we were fully alive in the moment it all disappeared. I miss my ballet years…. and suddenly I’m back there reading your essay.
You write with an elegance and a style that few can match. This has so much depth, I will need to read it many times. The whole piece “feels” like grief as Tamara mentioned in her comments. And there is a poetic mystery to everything you wrote as well. I’m going back to search for more meaning that is hidden in this gem.
“even if it shakes you awake in the dead of the night, you get up and you dance” relatable on such a personal level but perhaps a grief of losing myself, or even much so my inner child. stricken in the middle of the night by racing thoughts or sleep paralysis, you’re right Akif there is no choice but to get up and dance…even if the dance consists of being paralysed with your eyes open, then i suppose the grief dances around you.
very thought provoking and thoughtful writing by you once again, so many layers to each section, it was a pleasure to read!
may Allah (swt) make it easy for you. look forward to reading more from you InshaAllah
This was such a gentle pleasure to read...all three times. Thank you.
“I’m ashamed that I don’t remember the last time we were together… How long did you wait for me? It must’ve felt like an eternity”
I have had this exact same conversation with my inner child/younger self/forgotten self. The mix of guilt and shame you describe here from abandoning that part of you is so real. Thanks for sharing 🥲
Also, “…grief is playing grave keeper. Someone's got to tend to the roses.
Grief is the humble act of pilgrimage. A return to what once was, to which without, we wouldn't have the slightest clue where we're going.” Thanks for sharing this as well - I really needed to hear my current grief in this perspective of gratitude and love. Obviously the concept is tale as old as time but I needed it worded exactly like this. Thanks ❤️