healing
I have been facing a lot of darkness these days - especially darkness inside myself. It's ironic though that this time of facing my own darkness is turning out to produce much more playfulness & joy than I normally experience. "Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30) I like to think of this as a pun. Joy does come in the morning but also the "mourning." I think the joy is coming to me in moments lately, because I'm truly allowing the weeping instead of holding back & trying to skirt around it in the ways that I often do.
To help you know what I mean, let me share a little snippet from my journal this morning. (Apparently joy comes in the literal morning as well.) :) But first, a caveat - I'm sorry to speak in such abstraction as of late. There are certain things in life that do not belong in the blogosphere. I do still want to speak though and to share some of what I'm experiencing with you. I know it may be difficult to connect with all of this in such abstraction, but hopefully you can draw on some of your own experiences of loss & joy to flesh it out. So, from my journal -
I curl up next to the fire and absorb the vibrant morning light that cascades from the crisp, fall air through the large windows of my freshly cleaned living room. The warm taste of oatmeal
grounds my mind, and I sink deeply into my sits bones. My mind wanders, and, suddenly, with a mouth full of oatmeal, my face becomes soaked with some of the cleanest tears my body has shed... There is a hollow cavern of loss growing inside me. What can I do?
Maybe I can imagine the cavern filling with tears that flow out like a stream into the light. I think you are there in the light - waiting for me at the end in the places I'm willing to come out. To flow freely out of the cavernous places instead of fearfully damming them & protecting their darkness. Oooo, to flow with such ease sounds lovely. I cannot remove the cavern, but I can flow through it - toward light & toward you. My passageway will be my clean, honest tears.
I lack the words to express the freedom and joy that surface within me at the end of working through such darkness. The moments are often small, but the spontaneous metaphors of light, opening, fluidity, and streams are a gift that are truly healing my soul. I am grateful. I pray that you too will encounter streams of hope in the midst of your own very dark & lonely caverns. We all have them. And there is always light - even if we don't quite see it yet.
To help you know what I mean, let me share a little snippet from my journal this morning. (Apparently joy comes in the literal morning as well.) :) But first, a caveat - I'm sorry to speak in such abstraction as of late. There are certain things in life that do not belong in the blogosphere. I do still want to speak though and to share some of what I'm experiencing with you. I know it may be difficult to connect with all of this in such abstraction, but hopefully you can draw on some of your own experiences of loss & joy to flesh it out. So, from my journal -
I curl up next to the fire and absorb the vibrant morning light that cascades from the crisp, fall air through the large windows of my freshly cleaned living room. The warm taste of oatmeal
grounds my mind, and I sink deeply into my sits bones. My mind wanders, and, suddenly, with a mouth full of oatmeal, my face becomes soaked with some of the cleanest tears my body has shed... There is a hollow cavern of loss growing inside me. What can I do?Maybe I can imagine the cavern filling with tears that flow out like a stream into the light. I think you are there in the light - waiting for me at the end in the places I'm willing to come out. To flow freely out of the cavernous places instead of fearfully damming them & protecting their darkness. Oooo, to flow with such ease sounds lovely. I cannot remove the cavern, but I can flow through it - toward light & toward you. My passageway will be my clean, honest tears.
I lack the words to express the freedom and joy that surface within me at the end of working through such darkness. The moments are often small, but the spontaneous metaphors of light, opening, fluidity, and streams are a gift that are truly healing my soul. I am grateful. I pray that you too will encounter streams of hope in the midst of your own very dark & lonely caverns. We all have them. And there is always light - even if we don't quite see it yet.
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