A time for tears

A difficult task to maneuver indeed-holding an alight candle, braving the freezing weather and the violent wind, straightening my legs from trembling, trying hard to ignore the acute pain in the small of my back and wiping away my incessant tears. I stand at the candle light vigil and listen to the voices of people who have the strength to speak at a time like this. Some have lost their loved one's in the tragedy, some other's are survivors of survivors, and the remaining were people overcome by grief at this large scale destruction that the Bombay's terror attacks caused.

Away from all things familiar, I stand with a crowd of Indians at Columbia U and the familiarity of sorrow invokes it. I cry. My incessant tears are adamant, they have a life of their own really, and I welcome the relief. I realize, this is my space for grief and my way with it is through my tears. Yes, we will act. Yes, we will be indignant. We will wonder where this is all going and we will demonstrate compassion and camaraderie. Now however, I need to cry, I need to express my grief. I need to acknowledge that before I turn my grief into anger, courage and commitment I am struck by the ruthlessness with which lives were seized away. I am struck by the void that I feel as I empty my heart out.


I like the tears
That flow from the depth
Of my helpless despair.
I love the tears
That flow from the depth
Of my dawning aspiration.
I adore the tears
That flow from the depth
Of my Liberation-sea.

By: Sri Chinmoy