To deal with these avatars wearing scarlet letters: first, create stories. In these, they shall live. Sure they will be altered slightly, sure they are collages of truth, intermixed with perception. So what. These are the stuffs mythology is made of and mythology is a way for the dead to live opn. Second, follow traditions of the old and create ones of the new. This is what makes the flow of life a continuum and gives grief a place to channel its energy.
Josie and I walked in the woods today among the burgeoning green and the mist. It was sumptuous and alive and I thought to myself, even the vapor droplets are lovers, here. The ferns put on quite a display with their fronds unfolding upward. They were curiously vertical, not yet unfolded and appeared almost as elegant green spouts. The woods, this time of year, seems to me a grand organism professing green, professing the earth's answer to sun and water. And yet, I have stayed in my house and looked out and cursed this damp, rainy, gray weather. I have gone so far as to worry about it and wonder if moving will someday be a necessity. Then I just said, fuck it, I'm going out, and I put on my rain gear and into the woods I went and I found that the woods were happy, even though I was a grump, and it's happiness started to affect me. The dancing fronds, the offerings of buds to the air, the hush of rain was not inherently gloomy.
You know, if you commune with these gray days, you'll begin to see there are actual variances within the gray. The sky will brighten, at times, to almost a glowing white. Your heart skips a beat, thinking perhaps there will be a clearing. Then it darkens again, just slightly, and you plummet. This is the world of vapor, light and everything else is commanded by it. Maybe it too his its secrets worthy of reckoning.