About her grief

A very long time ago, way back in the past, the following quite insignificant story happened.

In a little town amidst the mountains of Asia lived a young woman. She had 5 children and was married to a rich merchant. She lived a wealthy life in a house in the centre of the town, neighbouring the house of the local ruler. The older children of this woman had the best teachers and the younger ones several au pairs. Maids and servants worked in the house, of course, so the woman lived in true comfort.

Moreover, the mountains in the town’s vicinity offered the beauty of nature, including several lakes, making the life of this woman appear even more splendid. And that was what other women in the town thought her life was. Splendid.

However, it was all the other way round, the complete opposite. The woman was not happy; a deep sadness dwelt within her. The woman often cried, but even more often anger arose in her. Little things made her angry and she vented her anger not only on the servants but on her children, too. When the anger passed and she realised what she had done, she always felt sorry and guilty, making her grief even greater.

The man saw that his wife was withering away, so he invited court ladies to his house. They were supposed to cheer her up. This plan, however, failed. The woman did not like gossiping with her girlfriends, nor did she enjoy the walks in the garden.

Then he sent the woman to a temple, asking the priests to clear the woman of anger and grief and bring her back to life. This did not help either; however, the priests promised to pray for the ill woman.

Her suffering kept growing, reaching a level that compelled her husband to ask doctors for help. He invited famous experts from near and far who studied the woman’s condition for weeks. They prescribed a number of creams, pills, potions, and diets for her, but the woman’s state did not improve.

What else was there for the man to do? He did not want to beat her in order to tame her, as his friends advised him when talking over wine in the evenings. So, he was left with no other option but to lock the woman in her chambers and keep her there.

As you can imagine, dear Soul, this measure made the woman feel deeply desperate. She ceased to trust anyone; she even suspected that the servants wanted to poison her.

In the town, talk began to spread that the merchant’s wife went insane. Sometimes, she was seen at her balcony, the corner of which protruded into the street. She sat there with an absent-minded look, and her un-combed hair blew about in the air. It truly appeared that she could not be helped.

Whether it was a coincidence or that the priests’ prayers were heard, one day, an old friend, who was also a merchant, visited our merchant’s house. The visitor wanted to have his goods transported into the neighboring country, along with those of his merchant friend’s. After settling the conditions of this joint expedition, the friend inquired about the health of the merchant’s wife.

The merchant grew sad and told his friend what had happened to his wife.

The man listened attentively, then he bowed his head and said:

“Well, I am not happy to hear this, dear friend. It reminds me of the case of the daughter of Sadyatta, the King of Lydia. She went insane, too, and nobody was able to help her. But then a gardener healed the King’s daughter.”

„A gardener?“ asked the merchant, surprised. He felt a spark of hope that there might be someone who could help his wife after all. “How did he help? He knew better herbs than the best doctors?”

„No, not at all“, his friend laughed. “The only thing that helped the illness a little was when she was in the garden. She used to sit on the bench, without movement, every day. People believed that the gardener felt annoyed by the woman tirelessly observing him at work, and in one unguarded moment, when the courtiers were not around, he put a hoe into her hands and ordered: “Create!”

She was so surprised by what that poor gardener had ordered her to do that she obeyed and began creating. She worked in the garden for nine days, from dawn to dusk, and began speaking again on the tenth day. She even began smiling. Nobody could explain how it was possible that simple messing about with soil could be so healing. Maybe your wife could try it, too.”

“My wife hates the garden and staying in the burning sun. This will certainly not help her”, uttered the man sadly, while saying good-bye to his merchant friend.

However, the woman heard the entire discussion through an open window. She began to be interested in it in the moment the friend began to mention the insane princess. She knew too well what the people whispered about her.

She was almost ready to let her anger off the leash and use the juiciest invectives against her husband for daring to liken her to a fool, when she suddenly heard that order: “Create.”

The merchant friend was a great narrator, so he pronounced the order with a deep, loud voice, making the woman feel that it came from heaven.

Something in her understood the essence of the entire story. That evening, the woman fell asleep possessed by a strange feeling.

The next day, the woman grabbed her harp and began playing. Long ago, as a girl she had a harp teacher, who poured the love of music into her heart. The night after hearing the merchant friend’s story, she dreamt of being a little girl again, who played and played music that was totally new, and utterly unearthly. She had never heard anything like it before.

And so the woman played and played from the depth of her soul, and as the music was being freed by her fingers, all her grief was being released, too.

From then on, the woman often sat playing the harp for hours, composing ever more beautiful melodies. People began to stop under her windows, but not with mocking whispers; instead, they stood there in mute admiration, listening to music that perhaps was not even from this world.

As the grief was flowing away, the anger went, too. The woman began smiling. She was creative. Not because she wanted fame or recognition; she made music solely for the joy of creation. And she lived happily for the rest of her life…

Dear Soul, this story happens in a number of variations today as well. It happens to rich and poor, to educated and uneducated, to honest and dishonest.

If a person is only receptive and consuming, and their Soul does not have a chance to create, then they are withering away.

Creating does not mean taking care of the household and family, or going to work, although all these things can be creative as well. Creating, however, is when you make something out of nothing, when you let the Soul be the guide, pouring the energy of pure joy into an activity. And you are doing it not because it is needed. Not because there will be something pleasant at the end. You are doing it for no reason.

When you play the harp, when you plant flowers, or when you paint, you allow yourself to be taken away by your phantasy, creating something out of nothing. Not because of the expected result, but purely for the joy of creating.

Find yourself at least one activity, no matter how meaningless it might appear, where you engage in creating. Then the Soul sings and the entire Universe sings along. The Soul can release the accumulated energy. Without this release, it changes to grief, anger and all the unpleasant emotions.

In the moment you begin creating, you become part of the entire stream of creative energy; and the more you create, the more inspiration will come.

And what is inspiration? It is the creative energy that changes the world.

Therefore, release your energy through creative acts, and the grief, pain, anger and all the other unpleasant feelings will eventually weaken. In the end, they will disappear completely.