Wednesday, February 18, 2015
A Heart Of Darkness Even In This Good Light
There's El in mid-crow, the ducks just having had their morning sips. The sun is back out although it is getting colder. It feels good. It feels like warmth and cold and brisk and gold. It feels as if the light is searching everything out to shine on it, at least for awhile. Each thing in turn. Each tiny fern, moss, leaf, fallen or still on the tree. Each bud, bug, bird.
Each human heart.
I keep waiting for that moment when I know that anxiety is truly ebbing. That moment when I have a knowledge that truly, all is well. Not a moment of bliss or happiness or euphoria or even contentment. Just a second where there is trust in my life that there will be goodness, I will find ease. I do not ask for bouquet of roses and camellias and sunflowers.
Only a tiny violet of quiet calm.
There were violets scattered on the roadside where I walk. I took note but they were not a message for my heart today. Still. There they were. The light fell upon them so strongly I knew that a picture of them would be nothing but yellow.
This is what anxiety can be. No matter how light, how loving, how right, how fine things are, there is that black worm in the brain whispering, "Oh, but..."
"Don't be a fool," it says. "Nothing is ever all right. Ever. The sky is falling and it will continue to fall. Don't you feel your heart race? Don't you feel your hands and feet go numb? The body knows."
The body does not always know. Not if the chemicals are wrong. The mind, the logic, can gather every bit of information saying this dark worm lies and it doesn't really change a damn thing.
Ah well. Here I am and I know it's okay. There is beauty all around me and this warmth and this light and I have beans simmering for a soup. My boys will be out to play. All will be well. All is, in fact well, despite what my gut, my stupid chemicals tell me.
It is wearying though, this constant fight to stay upright. To see the light.
Am I to accept and let it all flow through me?
Moment by moment it changes.
I am waiting for that good moment, that second in time where I can hear the universe saying again in my soul, all is well.
The funny thing is, I am not afraid to die. I am not even sure what it is I am afraid of, in fact. Which makes anxiety the impossible, unknowable beast which lies outside the firelight, waiting for the exact moment of darkness to pounce.
This will pass. I will have that moment.
Until then I will soak up all the light I can and be quiet for this moment and listen to the birds twittering, the chickens clucking, I will know that the light will finally find even the most hidden parts of shade and illuminate them.
In me too.