It is commonly thought that grief belongs only to that which has died. Francis Weller, a psychotherapist and soul activist, expanded this thinking to include a broader perspective of grief: a sacred, vast landscape. He mapped this terrain into the Five Gates of Grief. Weller suggested that to live fully required walking through all of the gates, even though the terrain was unpredictable.
My hope is that this poem will guide you, gate by gate, across the odd thresholds grief creates for us, providing a glimpse of what lies beyond.
May we all keep walking even if the terrain feels uncertain and lonely.
Gate One: All That We Love, We Will Lose
Grief is odd.
Yesterday I couldn’t stop talking about you.
Today, saying your name out loud feels like a piece of glass in my throat.
Yesterday the memory of a little life beginning brought comfort.
Today, the photo of that tiny embryo took it away, and I found refuge on the floor.
Yesterday the fridge was not a battlefield.
Today, the door opens and closes, but nothing enters or leaves.
Yesterday simple moments of pure joy anchored my days and nights.
Today, I’m at work because ‘it was just a dog’ — a loss ignored by a world moving on.
Yesterday I reached for my phone to text you, forgetting you were gone.
Today, that mini-shock of losing you felt brand new, as I paused over send.
What a price for love — that everything will end.
And still, we love.
Gate Two: The Places That Did Not Know Love
Grief is odd.
Yesterday I felt guilty for being happy.
Today, I feel angry that everyone else is.
Yesterday I was reminded I made the bed I must now lie in.
Today, the fear of facing myself alone pulls me away in shame.
Yesterday I stared at a room full of people who loved my curated self.
Today, I am alone, grieving the parts of me I still struggle to share.
Yesterday I blamed myself for not being strong enough to be me.
Today, I feel the weight of becoming the person those hidden parts have always asked me to be.
Yesterday I pushed down the pain, telling myself my hurts didn’t warrant tears.
Today, I am drowning in the truth of how cruel it is to deem myself unworthy of my own grief.
What a price for belonging — to become both judge and ghost in one’s own life.
And still, the unloved places wait for our return.
Gate Three: The Sorrows of the World
Grief is odd.
Yesterday I watched the headlines of wars across the seas.
Today, I see those wars in the eyes of people living on my own streets.
Yesterday the forests buzzed green with life and promise.
Today, I weep for wildlife fleeing fires toward shelter already turned to ash.
Yesterday I listened to a woman speak of her deep connection to her loved ones and her homeland.
Today, I ache for my new friend whose family has been murdered there.
Yesterday I thought the gloom I was feeling was the toll of busyness.
Today, I know it as the weight of trauma, suffocating hope in hearts too exhausted to feel safe.
Yesterday I looked at open waters, telling myself they were still pure and deep.
Today, I feel the ground beneath me tremble as poisoned waters bleed into the soil.
What a price for awareness — to feel the earth weeping beneath our feet
and have no way to hold it.
And still, the earth asks us not to turn away.
Gate Four: The Places We Were Not Welcomed
Grief is odd.
Yesterday I had a home, a family, a community, a purpose.
Today, I weep knowing the space held for me in that village was only an illusion.
Yesterday I mistook the impositions in my life for inclusion.
Today, I search for the welcome my heart never knew.
Yesterday I was a member of the group; a wife, friend, colleague, neighbour.
Today, I stand exiled, in a community of one.
Yesterday I didn’t think I needed a community anymore.
Today, the ache of being on the perimeter makes that need impossible to ignore.
Yesterday I blamed my own nature — too different, too needy, too much.
Today, I feel saddened by how I shrank in social circles that could not hold what I am.
Yesterday I thought I had grown past being included but not truly seen.
Today, I sit in the realization that some doors may stay closed, no matter how hard I knock.
What a price for survival — to learn to live without a home to return to.
And still, we long to belong.
Gate Five: Ancestral Grief
Grief is odd.
Yesterday I could stand in a room full of strangers and speak about loss.
Today, I can’t face the traces of it lingering in my own eyes; my own reflection.
Yesterday I considered the idea that the sorrow I carry was not mine alone.
Today, it is a visceral reality; my body carries the weight of generations of unacknowledged grief.
Yesterday I tried to trace the names and faces of the bloodline before me.
Today, I mourn the cultural erasure, the loss of language and memory, and families forced to flee their homes.
Yesterday I felt the presence of the failed birth of a nation heavy in the air.
Today, I struggle with a room feeling empty of people who were never actually in it.
Yesterday for a few hours, I forgot the phantom weight of my frozen collective lineage.
Today, I realize that forgetting was both the best and worst part of my day.
Yesterday, I learned the danger of hoping for freedom; that independence invited violence.
Today, I give language and breath to an identity once banned from existing.
What a price for inheritance — to be the one who must weep for those who died in silence.
And still, we are the ones to give their grief the voice they were denied.
Oh, oh, oh — how odd is Grief.
This is beautiful and shows the layers of grief.
Thank you for sharing. ❤️
This piece struck deep into my heart. I am grieving someone I cannot share with many. I haven’t accepted that I will no longer hear his voice.
I know this piece also related to world grief as well.
Thank you.