I remember the last conversation I had with my father. He was done. And I understood. He shared with me how he had told God to go to hell. To his surprise, I shared how, on more than one occasion, I had told God to go fuck itself, complete with a double middle finger extended into the night sky. He laughed. And in that moment, he didn’t feel as alone. That was the last gift I gave him. He died days later.
That moment sits with me to this day. The brutal honesty. I remember hanging up the phone, resting my head on the table and crying. I cried from the grief that had already set in. I cried from the emotional exhaustion of forcing myself to stand with him where he was at. To be raw, is one of the hardest things we can do. And yet, to me, it’s always where our most beautiful parts lie hidden. Like treasures resting on the ocean floor. Undisturbed until a big enough wave causes them to stir and float to the top.
And its during those times, when parts of ourselves become unmoored, we get to examine them fully; perhaps for the first time. If not for the first time, at least with a new light. There is something about the stillness of sadness. The way it causes our gaze to fall onto aspects of ourselves, our beliefs, our perceptions. Its cathartic.
Two days before Christmas, my home was flooded by the lights of emergency vehicles as they made their way toward something; someone. We had just finished decorating our tree. It was late. Everyone was swept up in the glow. For reasons I can’t quite explain, my mind kept flashing on someone ending their life. I felt them, dear reader. Then I shook it off. The feeling returned. It stayed with me all through the night. Without knowing if that had happened, I started to wonder why they felt the way they did. I spoke into the darkness, letting them know they weren’t alone. The next day my feelings were confirmed.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Other than to let you know that you aren’t alone. I would never attempt to tell you what is best for you. Only you know that. But while you are sorting that out, I want you to know that all of those feelings that weigh so heavily upon you, making it hard to breathe, are not felt by you alone. Any heartache that may be cutting you in two, any disappointments that have left you questioning whether this is worth doing, have been felt by more than just yourself.
So in this moment, in the only way that I can, I am taking your hand and standing beside you. And if you need to scream into the night, feel free. Scream loud and scream deep. I’ve been there. I’ve howled into the starlit sky. Feel what you need to feel. And when you are tired and raw and convinced there is nothing left to say, I ask that you remain that way – silent. Close your eyes. Breathe. There is magic in the space you are now holding. Stay there. Even though nothing around you may appear different. You are. You are different. By allowing yourself to feel what you needed to feel, to be honest, to be raw, you’ve released decades of energy blockages. And there is power in that. By setting free what has been trapped, you’ve made room for what can become. Surrender for awhile. Allow yourself this respite. Draw no conclusions. Set down the gavel. Render nothing wrong or right. Just be. For now.
Give yourself this moment. During which, take notice of the little things. Look to nature. Take delight in the exquisite beauty that is always present. Don’t look ahead. Don’t look behind. Just replenish your soul in the Life Force that is the sun hidden behind the clouds. Its there. Thriving, regardless of how it may appear. Just like you. Your clouds will dissipate. But whether they do or don’t is not the point. The sun still shines. Nature knows this. And I want you to know this.
I do not say this lightly, dear reader. I too have been buried behind an opaque sky.
Sane
Insanity 