“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Essentially, from a wisdom perspective, this second beatitude is talking about vulnerability and flow. When we mourn (and we’re talking about true mourning here, not complaining or self pity) we are in a state of freefall, our heart reaching out toward what we have seemingly lost but cannot help loving anyway. To mourn is by definition to live between the realms. “Practice the wound of love,” writes Ken Wilber in Grace and Grit, his griping personal story of loss and transformation. “Real love hurts; real love makes you totally vulnerable and open; real love will take you far beyond yourself, and therefore real love will devastate you.” Mourning is indeed a brutal form of emptiness. But in this emptiness, if we can remain open, we discover that a mysterious “something” does indeed reach back to comfort us; the tendrils of our grief trailing out into the unknown become intertwined in a greater love that holds all things together. To mourn is to touch directly the substance of divine compassion. And just as ice must melt before it can begin to flow, we, too, must become liquid before we can flow into the larger mind. Tears have been a classic spiritual way of doing this. –Cynthia Bourgeault, The Wisdom Jesus; transforming heart and mind – a new perspective on Christ and his message (Shambhala, 2008) page 43
I read this (and all of her chapter 3, “The Kingdom of Heaven is within You.”) after Fr. Victor Kischak’s sermon at Wednesday’s mass on The Beatitudes (Matthew 5: 1-12) These eight short sayings lay out Jesus’ s core teachings in a wonderfully concentrated and compelling format. His commentary was truly inspirational leaving me wanting more. Cynthia’ book filled that need – it reinforced what Fr Kischak’s sermon was preaching.