Grief invites us into a terrain the strips us to our most naked self – Francis Weller

Grief isn’t just a reaction to loss. It’s something alive, flowing through us—a river that connects us to the beauty and impermanence of everything. When we stop seeing grief merely as mourning and start to see it as reverence, something shifts. Grief, in this sense, isn’t about getting stuck in sorrow. It’s about surrender. It’s about accepting life as it is: fleeting, rich, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

We tend to think of grief as something that happens when we lose a person we love. But grief shows up in so many other places. We grieve for a beloved pet, for a forest destroyed by fire, for a job we’ve left behind, or for the person we once were.

Grief is there any time something changes, any time something leaves and something new takes its place. But we often try to box grief into a single moment—a painful experience we just need to “get through.” What if that’s not the whole story? What if grief isn’t something to avoid or get over, but something to be with?

What if grief isn’t just a reaction, but a presence—a river flowing through our lives, reminding us of the impermanence of everything? It’s always there, moving and changing, sometimes gentle and sometimes fierce. But maybe that’s okay.

A few months ago, I was sitting in a coffee shop, trying to get some work done. But something shifted. I put down my computer and let myself really tune in to the moment. I noticed the people moving in and out, the baristas working together like a dance, the smells of coffee and freshly baked goods. And then it hit me. This ache, sweet and sharp at the same time.

It was beautiful, and it hurt. It felt like standing in front of a blazing sunset or seeing the first leaves of autumn—beautiful and yet somehow painful. Later, I found words for it: sacred sorrow.

That moment is gone now, but it’s not really gone. It lingers, echoing through time. Sacred sorrow asks us to sit with the truth of life’s transience. Nothing stays. Everything moves. It’s raw, it’s painful, and it’s beautiful. Grief isn’t just about endings—it’s part of the rhythm of existence. The first green shoots of spring. A flower in full bloom. And then, the moment when the flower fades and falls back to the earth.

We can grieve the loss of the flower. Or we can look at it and see how precious it is because it’s fleeting. That’s the gift grief offers us. It reminds us that life’s impermanence is what makes it sacred.

To experience grief as reverence, we have to let go. We have to surrender—not to the idea of loss, but to the truth of how things are. This is the hard part. Surrender doesn’t shrink grief. It makes it bigger. It doesn’t numb the ache. It makes us feel it more deeply. But it also opens us up, expanding our hearts and our capacity for presence.

Grief, when we let it, can become something more. Not just pain, but acceptance. Not resistance, but presence. It’s a shift—from clinging to what’s gone to honoring what’s here, right now.

This doesn’t mean grief will stop hurting. It doesn’t mean we’ll stop feeling the weight of loss. But maybe grief isn’t just something to endure. Maybe it’s an invitation—a chance to experience grief differently. To see it as part of life’s fullness, not its emptiness.

When we allow grief to move through us, it becomes a measure of how much we’ve loved, how deeply we’ve lived. It becomes reverence—a way of saying yes to life’s impermanence, to its beauty, to all of it.

So here’s the question: Can you let grief be your teacher? Can you let it guide you to surrender, to presence, to a deeper appreciation of this fleeting, sacred life?