Winter has been dark. The days short. The trees dormant. Even the evergreens seemed to fall asleep. When the season had hardly began I swam out into the middle and was treading like mad - feeling every emotion available. I’m a bred optimist naturally, a brooding one, but I strive to see the light in the dreary. But when this fog grew thicker over the vast expanse of water I was lost in… I finally gave up, flipped over onto my back, and cried as the rains fell from the monotone sky onto my face and became the grey ocean around me.
I’ve floated here for a while. Eventually a small boat came and I clamored in, laying down again. I’m a little less numb now. I was so tired from trying to be a part of this… all this. The ugliness of the culture that I was once intoxicated with revealed itself. And the ecstatic nature of this new understanding of what life was about and who I was… grew ordinary. And I grew quiet. I didn’t know what to say in my doubts.
Did I believe? Did I want to? The systems were failing. The boxes grew so small I started to feel claustrophobic. I wanted out. So I swam out into the middle of the big grey churning waters full of all my pain and demons and joys and sorrows and love and sadness - the same waters You walked on - and let them threaten to drown me. I haven’t yet. I’m guessing that means something.
Whatever that something is.
The truth is I don’t know. It has been dark and grey, but somehow I’m still here, still breathing - still hoping. I’m sitting here in the grey; maybe this is the place where I will live my life out, maybe it is where I belong. But I’m letting that one ray of sun bathe me now. I’ve unbuttoned my shirt and am letting it filter into my skin, letting the warmth comfort my turbulent soul.
Sometimes not blocking the light is all we can do for the time being. Sometimes that is more than we want to believe it is.