mental-health

Practice

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately, like I always do. Finding that I may have left the feelings of a past dream behind in light of the traumas of yesterday. Traumas that became so insurmountable that I needed to find a rest in a liminal space. Though this is not a place to thrive, only survive and heal from the tragedies of yesterday.
At times, it feels like floating in a deep pool, experiencing the pull from both the sky and the deep. Wanting to sink and fly with equal measure, and wondering which may happen first.

It’s the in-between, the space between the wound and the scar, the healed and the hurt, that consumes me with thoughts. I ruminate on the moments it took to get here and the moments after I am free.

It is the change between the sinner and the saint. The before and the after. The journey in which you don’t know which way you may turn. I don’t know if this turn in limbo will find me all the better or worse from the waiting.

I am told, that the process is important. That things may look different because of the transmutation, that to find gold you need to apply iron to heat. That you need to purify the essence but be careful to isolate the variables. That through it all, you may need to lock yourself in for the change of freedom in the morning.

It leaves me in conflict with my past and future selves. My past, which assures me with how things should be under the assumption that nothing has changed, does not reflect the quiet revolution within my heart. The future, a mysterious confidant who keeps its intentions unknown and its actions concealed, taunts me with the promise of a dream behind the veil of tomorrow but refuses to concede to my need for assurances.

I am living in this space between, the small footnote that explains the story. The subtle, “they spent time there and came out with new ideas,” without the reveal of the transformation within. They do not regard the details as sacred, and such leave out the steps it took to get to the top of the traiI.

In liminal spaces, I find that I can confront the difficulty before finding the strength to climb the insurmountable, to sink or to fly deepens on the time I spend reflecting on the possibility of being changed by the gift of time.

Oh how I hate and love it. Understand and deny it. Am hurt and helped by the space between. Who shall I be upon my awakening? Who shall I be once all is done?

Oh, liminal spaces, you plague me with a paradise I will only appreciate once it’s gone.

Cura

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I need to heal. I feel this in my mind, body, and soul. I shake and fret over moments so small that I sometimes feel on the edge of collapse. Though not crushing, it’s the sting from when you get scratched too deep—the pain that permeates and pulses. I push it down but even then I know I carry it with me. I need to heal, and I hope this is the first step.

I’m so worried about the damage of unraveling that I push down and compartmentalize the pain to keep me away from the struggle. This, though, cuts me off from something just as important: an expression of spirit. I’ve been neglecting it for some time. Making excuses about why I have stayed away. I couldn’t deal wit the feelings of beginning as it brought back all the memories of yesterday that feels so unsettling.

I’ve been fighting for so long that I am afraid I don’t know how to live outside the emotional battlefield. The stresses and scares of my experiences pervade me in such a way that I feel physically resistant to doing the things I need to do to help myself. So I come back here to put words on a page in the hopes that I can start to dig again into my spirit and push forward beyond my limitations. To find a space to be free of strife and live a life I am meant to. It feels like a tired song or a neverending story, but at the moment, I know no other way to heal.

These words split from my fingers to tell me something more, that I’ve been holding too much in and that now is the time to set myself free. To forgive me for the life I have lived and tell myself that it’s okay to have not measured up to who I wanted to be. It’s never too late, but don’t hold onto the image of yesterday to forsake the promise of tomorrow. I can’t help myself; it felt so sweet back then. The ravages of time felt like they took their toll, unfairly weighing on my face and body like a ship weathered by the constant sea and storm.

I know there is no going back; the past is within the past, but could it not have been more gentle in its transition? It makes me so afraid of working towards my dreams because of the pain I experience to get to this one.

But what does the cost matter if you were willing to pay it. You were willing to jump knowing that not all things in life come easy or work well. The pain you feel on your soul is a remark of a spirit that stayed true to itself despite the difficulties. A worn and beaten statue does not tell himself of all the injury but all the moments it learned to live through.

This way I too need to be true to myself, do I really want to live a life without difficulty? Would stopping now fulfill my journey of dreams? I know the answer is no, but I don’t remember where to begin again.

IPursuing a dream is the journey of a million steps, and what gets you there is to keep walking. There are moments when you will need to bandage your feet, take a moment to heal, and appreciate what you have accomplished along the way, but the only way forward is through.

Be kind, I may falter, as I begin this journey anew.

Nights of Broken Lights and Darkened Paths

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I used to want to be a hero when I was younger. Someone who shines a light on those around me, allowing people to see the world and all its wonder as I have. To be able to find hope in the most dire of situations, to find the silver lining in the cloud of grey, to finally understand their worth and the worth they bring to others. Though there is nothing wrong with these lofty goals, wanting to make the world a better place, but I realized that heroes can only exist where there is danger and distress. Where the time and seasons fall hard, and waves wash over our heads, a hero is needed to be there to right the wrong and save the day. It’s the light that needs the dark to exist. The greatest gift to a hero would truly be a world where they are not necessary. It concerns me sometimes that the archetype of the hero presupposes their rarity. That their actions would not be commonplace. That other would not act when the need arises. We need those to carry that role for others as the world will not take care of them on their own. Though this is a bit of a ramble, what I’m trying to get at is that is that there is not enough action and care to go around, that certain people need to shoulder that burden uniquely. That the world is a dark place for many others and people crave the path forward. It’s a lost place, with people feeling like their are surrounded by thick fog, feeling their way through and hoping that each step they take they are not getting close to the edge of a cliff.

It’s been my experience, as of late, that there are so many people who’ve just lost their way. People who have been out into the world with the expectation of competency but no explanation of how they are supposed to proceed. That they see the world and their situation as dangerous, disenchanting, and disastrous. That the bell rings in the morning and dispair for the continuance of life of the sets in.

I understand this completely because I’ve been there. The world, at times, is a harsh and unforgiving place, which leaves no room to know where to go. It feels like we fall behind because this mismatched expectation gives us no understanding of direction or feeling as if there is no time to grow to meet the challenge. We are stuck in a cycle, hoping for someone to reach out and tell us that we will be okay or extend a hand in help. It’s so hard to push forward as we feel alone in the universe, just trying not to get too close to the edge.

I’ve recently, for better or worse, taken on the whole of mentor and teacher to some very unexpected people. People who ordinarily would be perfectly capable on their own, but their lives seem to have burdened them with unnecessary troubles. But as time has passed, I’ve become more acutely aware of all those around me who feel the same. These people want that light, that guide, to clear away the fog and give them some semblance of direction. It’s just within these systems that we live that give no real guidance in the path to take, so we cling to the familiar in the hopes that the path we have taken will eventually lead us to where we want to go.

It feels like a breakdown in the community in which these problems can be voiced and care can be provided. I feel sorry at times for those who I help because I know I’m not enough. I can try to be the light in the darkness, but sometimes I feel like I am but a mere candle flame among the sea. That I, though, can help illuminate the way, but may not be able to show them their direction or help them heal from their wrongs. I’m scared that the advice I give will hurt them, that I will lead them astray. that they will regret their time and for listening to a fool like me. I just hope that I can be a warm presence to them. That I can give them strength to stand on their own. That one day they won’t need me anymore because the love and care they need will be right there for them.

I don’t know if I’m enough on this broken street of mine, with flickering lights and overgrown paths. I will keep you safe, but your journey is your own. I just hope I can help you be more of yourself and remember your strength because I think there should be more of you in the world, too.