When your eyes are
tired the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.
When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.
There you can be
sure you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb tonight.
The night will give you a horizon further than you can see.
You must learn one thing: the world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.
The dark will be your womb tonight.
The night will give you a horizon further than you can see.
You must learn one thing: the world was made to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.
~David Whyte
(bold emphasis is my
edit!)
A few weeks ago I
wrote about denouncing the month of “meh”; about viewing my
situation at the time as an opportunity to re-connect rather than
retreat; with the hope that by the end of the month I could say “I
loved this month”...
Well you know what
they sometimes say: things may get worse before they start to get
better.
Last week I hit a
low point. Understandably discouraged, overwhelmed, lonely,
frustrated. And losing hope. That last piece came as a surprise to me
because in all of my past low moments – of being discouraged with
my own situation, with my failures or lack of progress, with my
relationships or lack thereof, with the state of the world we live in
– there was always a small, nagging morsel of hope longing to be
heard. Offering reassurance and encouragement to keep pushing
forward. That, as the saying goes, this too shall pass. Sometimes it
was harder to hear or took longer to break through the empty silence,
but it was always there.
When I realized I
could not hear even it's faintest whisper, I also realized I do not
know how to do this without hope. I do not know how to pull myself
out of this without hope.
I thought to myself
even if that hope goes forever unrealized; even if it is empty,
blind, or naive, I need to find it again and hold onto it in order to
keep pushing forward.
It's funny sometimes
how the Universe will bring to you the things you need when you need
them, if you only open your eyes to see. Nuggets of hope began to
come my way -
In the unlikely
friend who called three days in a row to check on me and drag me
outside for a walk by the water.
In the friend's
voice reminding me: “You won't always feel this way.”
In the friend's
trusting questioning: “I wonder who he will be...?”
In the friend's at
first seemingly out of place response yet acknowledging the
opportunity that grows from these spaces: “I am excited for you!”
In the innocent
acceptance and play of nieces and nephews.
In the genuine
laughter that flowed from re-connecting with a friend from a
distance.
In the fulfilling of
a long-ago commitment to share music with a community from my
childhood.
In the invite for a
much-needed night out with different friends.
Even in random
quotes appearing on Facebook.
Hope had not been
lost – it was just being safely held in different places, and
handed back to me in pieces when I needed it and more importantly was
ready for it again. Whether they did so consciously or not, I am
grateful for the people in my life that are able and willing to do
that for me and with me.
So it's been a long
month. A tough month for more than just myself, as stories are passed
back and forth among friends, family, and co-workers. But the nugget
of hope I can offer is that today is the last day of this month.
Tomorrow, a new one begins again!
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