Where do I take sadness?

Do I try to find a river to pour it into, hoping it drifts down and settles amongst the moss instead of my bones?

Do I sing it out loud and high, hoping it floats up past the clouds instead of linger in between this thought and the next?

Do I find a silly time with a silly friend and try to laugh until it moves out of my gut into somewhere far less-noticeable, like my toes?

Do I verbalize and analyze until the tears become like numbers in an equation, like factors in a formula?

No, I prefer a far less-traveled approach but perhaps common amongst the greatest of poets and artists. I hunt it down like a beagle in the woods, try to get as close as possible and then linger— staring, touching and dissecting. Then, I take all the bits and bobs and try to spin it, like golden thread, into something beautiful. Then the sadness transforms and I'm not just a mourner or sojourner, lost amongst the emotion, I am an artist— a maker and creator. Then I thank that misunderstood sadness and realize I can take anything and make it beautiful and perhaps, this is a nod to my creator who takes all things and makes them beautiful. I am not just a human experiencing and coping, I am a created being mirroring and worshiping my creator.

What started as groans of grief ended up being songs of worship and praise sung with the very limbs of my life.