Apparently, this old puritan hymn is a dance tune meant to help young, chaste dancers follow the right steps and keep time with the choreography. How disappointing if that’s true. Even if it is, I choose to hear it instead as a gentle charge to continue following my conscience, finding my True North, remaining on
“Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the kneeds and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.” – Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking This definition of grief from the first chapter of Joan Didion’s
