I grasp at joy and avoid sadness. It's not unique to me. It is the human condition. We cling to imagined good and resist the uncomfortable. I sit here, packing my belongings again, my heart aching at the prospect of leaving my mountain. I sit not knowing. I look out at a misty horizon, uncertain. Where will we live? Can I afford a house? How will I support the boys? What is all of this about? Will I know/experience love? These questions rise and fall. When I try to answer each one, my body constricts in fearful response. In its somatic wisdom it whispers the simple truth, I don't know. The mind is unsatisfied with not knowing and worry is born. The truth remains. I don't know. And so instead of "taking thought", I wrap my arms around myself and feel. Sadness. Loneliness. Joy. Hopefulness. Fear. Regret. Longing. Doubt. All of it. When there is nothing left to resist, what remains? Life.
When everything looks bleak and the darkness cramps against the cold, it takes courage to simply look out from imagined isolation toward the wide horizon of beauty available in every moment. It takes courage to lean into the sea of life and trust the tide. When weary limbs no longer support us, it takes courage to trust our inner buoyancy and float. It takes courage, in the face of darkness, to remember the light and sit in all our apparent blindness and listen, silently, to the still, small whisper within. It takes courage, in that dark hour, when nothing else remains. Eyes closed. Eyes opened. A glimpse, a memory, a fleeting vision of a light so bright it blurs the borders of things seen and things perceived into a comprehensive wholeness of being. It takes courage.
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