Updated: Dec 10, 2019
Do you ever feel like pushing out the darkness? Do you ever conceive of escaping the eclipse? Whenever the wave of discomfort rolls over you like cold water at the break of dawn, you pull the covers back over your face to hide from the hurt, to avoid the unease.
When I was younger I would brace heartache and loneliness like the bear going into hibernation for winter; like the tree baring its arms after August's heat. I would assume the worst of my pain and try to understand it like a stranger swiftly walking toward me.
I felt ashamed for abandoning my joy, for not always feeling bliss. I didn't want to confront the blank space, the heavy heart, the thoughts that kept me from sleep. I would close my eyes and hope that with the sun rise I would wake anew, reborn, replenished, and cleansed of all ache; all injury.
But when the months passed and I learned to greet the guest staying with me, I understood that she, like joy, brought with her gifts. To receive these gifts, I had to sit and converse with her; I had to draw a roadmap of where she was coming from, why she was here and where she was going after she left me.
After years of being scared of the eclipse, I now see that it's merely the shadowing of the sun, never the removal of its light. For the beams are ever present no matter what our landscapes may appear to be.
Every person that enters your scenery, any memory that wears down your heart, each pang of sadness etching across your chest, is a gift. Even these darkened spaces of our souls have a beauty far beyond what our eyes can see. We must embrace the totality of our beings to receive these graces.
I now welcome the unknown. I see every new circumstance that greets me as a teacher I once asked for. I find meaning in the annoyances, in the sometimes rote routine, in passing conversations with others, and the worries my mind can drift to believe. I listen as though they are secrets from the divine.
For when the light may be darkened by its shadow, it forever remains.