Life is a cyclical journey of unraveling and awakening. Falling apart at the seams and gingerly stitching up the wounds, time and time again. For just as soon as the storm lifts, the clouds part, the sun begins to peek through and you’ve managed to rebuild what feels like a more stable and sustainable structure, another menacing front gathers on the horizon.
After 38 years of several shoddy rebuilds, hurricanes, cyclones, a state of the art weather detection system and having invested in a variety of helmets, knee pads and other protective gear because you “think” you’ve learned a thing or two about structures and tempests, somehow, someway, another shit storm hits.
Despite careful planning and diligent preparation, you find yourself, right…back…where you began… at ground zero, knee-deep in the debris of the life you’ve built, with nothing but a rusty shovel and a pot to sit on, cook AND piss in this time, if you’ve learned anything from previous storms.
Years pass and after several rinses and repeats with varying degrees of intensity and corresponding trauma, you find yourself, homeless on the corner of Madness Ave. and Liberation Blvd., where you’ve finally fallen to your knees on the hot, dirty pavement, exhausted and run down like an old mule, unable to carry the burden of your own mellow drama one step-further. Pride and ego bailed days ago when they finally admitted that the default coping mechanisms were no longer ( and truthfully, never were ) effective and self-pity and loathing hopped the last ever Greyhound out, moments before they evacuated the town. They’ve taken the clothes off your back with them and you didn’t even struggle. You’ve been abandoned by your own pity party. You’re naked, exposed, raw and alone and you’re numb AF to your predicament. So numb, you can scarcely feel the hot grit, digging into the tender flesh beneath your bony knees and the weight of it all, pulling you further down, as you kneel before your own foolishness.
You’ve got no tears left in the tank, a pitiful grimace on your face and a throbbing headache from years spent straining and struggling. You turn your head skywards and plead to the void for salvation and though you’ve been here before and should know better, you still pause for feedback.
Somewhere, in the space between the deafening silence and your heart’s own intuition lies the knowledge that no response from on high is forthcoming.
With absolutely nowhere left to go and nobody left to listen to your story lines, you scoff at yourself and then laugh at your own scoffing. The hilarity over the hopelessness of it all causes the laughter to escalate, maniacally. Your body convulses as it builds and tears begin to flow again, except they’re different. They’re from some other space, some reserve tank, behind the primary ducts. A space of clarity, humility and openness. A space of simultaneous exasperation and grace.
As you laugh at your circumstances and the tower of drama you’ve built around all of it; the illusions, the pain, the pity, the isolation, the entire structure begins to cave in on itself. A profound sense of release washes over you as you lift tear-stained cheeks and puffy, red eyes towards the sky above, surrendering heavy, weary lids to the cool droplets of rain that have begun to fall and merge with the warm tears streaming down your face. The sun continues to shine overhead, despite the rain. It was there all along, except, this time you’re able to feel it. This time you notice. Your heart swells as you smile at the sensations and the simplicity of it all. The beauty of a sun-shower, the emancipation, the levity and spaciousness of the moment, occupying the same space that was dark and cramped with such profound grief and sorrow, a fraction of a second ago.
In this moment, an inner knowing arises. An understanding so profound that you are everything and nothing all at once, illuminates your consciousness. This is the feedback and salvation you were looking for. It was in you all along.
You have awoken.