"Hello, My Name Is GRIEF!"

They call me GRIEF.  Like many of the branded "woes" of your dystopian universe, I am a great equalizer.  Free to roam in the infinity of time,  I spare no one, fear no man,  and don't play favorites.  I move with stealth and cunning and can easily creep into anyone's peaceful existence undetected.  Some people unwittingly invite me into their lives as I lay hidden in sugar-coated array of destructive choices.  But I need no invitation, unknowingly or otherwise, for my role is woven into the maze of the fabric you call "life".  You don't often see me as you wander aimlessly  in the easy, happy, uncluttered confines of your night and day or even as you journey in the dark haze of life's busy, rough, complicated tunnels.  But I am there;  make no mistake, I am there. 

Once I identify my victim, I waste no time to launch my merciless claim.  I strike without pity and come to you safely concealed in varied cloaks - illness, poverty, accidents,  relationship problems,  loss of a loved one in that end of life called death.  Ah, death!  How easily can I disturb your peace as I gain a sudden access when life is snatched away by that unseen hand.

I come to you and linger for as long as you unsuspectingly let me.    More than that, I am not alone.  Like a soldier ready for battle, I am prepared with an arsenal of weapons that can destroy - pain, tears, guilt, anger, and depression.  I use them without mercy  in my ruthless quest for the real you.  So I use the tender fringes of your emotion to taunt you as you evoke self-pity; I haunt you with the lyrics of an old,  half-remembered song; I thrust the sharp dagger of pain in your heart with every twinge of some unspoken guilt; I use tears of regret in every speck of memory of him who is not coming back.  Oftentimes, I strike when you least expect me for I know how vulnerable you are.  I see you - wearing that familiar smile looking at some old family pictures, or sitting peacefully with a novel in your hands, or exchanging funny stories with friends while visiting some foreign shores, and I am unable to spare you.  I watch you alone, quietly listening to the sounds of life outside your home,  walking with easy strides enjoying nature's beauty in some neighborhood park,  interacting in a seeming happy mood with your family, and I strike you with pain, remorselessly and without pity.  You know I am there as you let the tears flow, as you search in vain for someone you will never see and feel again, as you look at everything that had been a part of that life that is no more.  I creep noiselessly into your day as you watch the bright sunlight unfold its rays across the cyan sky,  or even as you listen to the deep silence that hugs that eddy of pain in a dark moonless night. No, I cannot let you go.  Not yet.  Oh no, not yet!   For I have not completed the mold of who you must be that I must present to Him that sent me. 

Wisdom.  I must fashion it into that mold.  Encrusted beautifully with that fine ingredient  and embedded with grace and charm into what you must be, I can walk away with pride for I have taught you the lesson you must learn.  I would have confirmed what the scriptures say: "For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."  - Ecclesiastes 1:18.  Aeschylus, the Greek dramatist who is often cited as the father of the genre called Tragedy, basically said the same thing:  "He who learns must suffer.  And even in our own sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God."  Wisdom.  Ah, how you need to incorporate it into who you are!  I am sorry for my draconian approach to school you but I am not made for the amorphous and easy.  I wish I do not have to visit your days with a seeming interminable glut of searing pain and tears but you must learn wisdom and discover who you really are.  Then, and maybe only then, can I  bid you goodbye.

Yes, my name is Grief.  I seem cruel and callous to everyone I meet - the simple and the weak, the smart and the strong, the short-sighted or the clever, the bold or the meek,  the saint or the sinner.  I know no age nor season and I am no respecter of persons.    I am ruthless; I have no mercy and in no time I can destroy the weak.  But hold on before you pass that harsh indictment that comes so easy to one who has not yet discovered my true purpose.  I am life's tool for instruction and learning.  I am the hideous mask that conceals that magnificent instrument that will uncover the best in you as God's beautiful creation,  if you let me.  I can destroy,  but I can also build and thus magnify the tiny fragments of divinity within you,  if you allow me.  Yes, I am Grief, but I am not your foe.  Learn the lesson I am sent to teach you to earn your liberty.  When you do, like a trapped butterfly in a hard, confining cocoon of pain, you will soar triumphantly to a starlit galaxy of joyous realization that you, the imperfect you, have overcome and won.   Then and only then will l say: " Fly, fly, for now at last you're free!"