在我眼中，清明节是关于爱的日子。
一年一年地祭拜、哀悼、述说关于挚爱的故事、透过仪式与挚爱对话……这些都展现出爱的美丽之处，它是超越时空、超越生死的。
在创造出这样一个可以自然表达爱的空间上，清明节是温柔的。会这么说，是因为哀伤这个经验，其实深受社会和文化影响。曾经在维多利亚时期，丧亲者用很长的时间去哀悼挚爱是寻常不过的事。直至后来因为一战和西班牙流感导致大量的死亡，加上工业革命对人力资源的需求，导致社会逐渐演变成现在对哀伤不合理的要求，期待着失去挚爱的人们在短时间内就恢复如初，好像忘了人们为之哀伤的，是占据了生命中很大部分的存在。
而清明节，肯定了我们心灵深处的需求，给予了那份爱一个可以存在的空间。
无可否认，失去挚爱的哀伤，确实有让人心如刀割的痛楚的部分。也难怪社会习惯把哀伤看成需要去“跨越”的“伤痛”。但或许我们对哀伤有着不是那么公平的误解。Francis Weller在《无边的哀伤》一书中指出：哀伤是人类温柔且强大的能力，它让我们充盈着生命力，将我们与他人和世界连结。这么看来，哀伤并非是需要解决的“问题”，而是深深触碰着我们心灵的钥匙，提醒着我们自己的存在与本质，以及生命中无可取代的重要关系。
我想，哀伤与爱的关系是相依相存的。
每当我回顾生命中的哀伤与失落时，一次次涌上心中的，都是对失去的挚爱深切的爱意。即使在最初，最痛苦难熬的阶段，我一次都没有想过要让心中的哀伤消失，因为我知道这份哀伤是我们之间的连结，是我与重要他人建立的新关系，让这份爱得以以另一种形式存在。
我非常认同Francis Weller所说，“哀伤让心朝着爱开放，代表允许他人进入生命的核心。” 拒绝哀伤确实可以躲开悲痛，但这需要压缩自己的情感，代价是错过人生的广度。
如若没有哀伤，我们就会失去生命中重要的情感，以及与经验共存的能力。而经过哀伤锻炼后的爱，让我们更懂得珍惜当下生命中重要的关系。
不知道你看到这里，是否对哀伤有了不一样的情感？我想，或许你可以理解为何我会说清明是温柔的了吧？
是疼痛的，因为重要，因为爱。但也因为如此，只要我们好好地接着我们的哀伤，用自己的方式温柔地触碰它，让心中的爱流动，哀伤或许能从伤痛中，开出我们意想不到的花朵。
那时，你也许会发现，你的心，容得下整个宇宙。
In my eyes, Qing Ming is a day dedicated to love.
Year after year, we gather to offer prayers, to mourn, to recount stories of those we’ve lost, and to converse with them through ritual. All of this reveals the true beauty of love, it is a force that transcends time, space, and even the boundary between life and death.
In creating a space where love can be expressed so naturally, Qing Ming is inherently tender. I say this because our experience of grief is deeply shaped by social and cultural influences. During the Victorian era, it was common for the bereaved to mourn their loved ones for over a year. It wasn’t until the mass casualties of WWI and the Spanish Flu, coupled with the Industrial Revolution’s demand for human labor, that society evolved into its current state: one that imposes unreasonable demands on grief. We are now expected to “bounce back” in a short time, as if society has forgotten that the person we are grieving once occupied a vast part of our lives.
Qing Ming, however, validates the deep needs of our souls. It carves out a sanctuary where that love is allowed to exist.
Undeniably, the grief of losing a loved one carries a pain that feels like a knife to the heart. It is no wonder society often views grief as a “trauma” that one must simply “get over.” But perhaps we have a persistent and unfair misunderstanding of grief.
In his book The Wild Edge of Sorrow, Francis Weller points out that grief is a tender and powerful human capacity. It fills us with vitality and connects us to others and the world. Seen this way, grief is not a “problem” to be solved, but a key that touches the depths of our soul, reminding us of our essence and the irreplaceable relationships in our lives.
I believe that grief and love are inextricably linked.
Whenever I reflect on the grief and losses in my own life, what surges in my heart time and again is a profound love for those I have lost. Even in the beginning, during the most agonizing stages, I never once wished for the grief to disappear. I knew that this sorrow was the thread connecting us, a new form of relationship with my loved one that allowed love to endure in a different way.
I deeply resonate with Weller’s words: “Grief keeps the heart supple and soft, open to the world… To deny grief is to compress our emotions and miss the breadth of life.” Without grief, we would lose our most vital emotions and our capacity to sit with our experiences. Love, when tempered by grief, teaches us to cherish the important relationships we have in the present.
I wonder if, having read this far, your feelings toward grief have shifted? Perhaps now you can understand why I describe Qing Ming as “tender.”
It is painful because it is significant; it hurts because there is love. But because of this, if we can gently hold our grief and touch it in our own way—allowing love to flow—grief may eventually bloom into unexpected flowers from within the pain.
In that moment, you may find that your heart is wide enough to hold the entire universe.
