These times we live in,
these times we live in.
How to cope,
How to cope?
What to do?
Where to turn?
The doctor, the partner, the friend? The great outdoors? All of the above?
Times are hard, we say. Haven’t they always been? A different kind of hard, a new kind of hard. We no longer deal with raids by gangs of marauding vikings. Or neighbouring clansmen trying to steal our land. Although in some parts of the world, they probably do. Maybe someone is stealing your peace of mind. Maybe you’re letting them by failing to erect emotional boundaries.
Please don’t beat yourself up if this is what you’ve been doing. Perhaps you never learned. Perhaps, in your family, boundaries were not allowed. But here you stand.
Here you stand now.
You are alive.
What are you going to do now?
What are you going to do next?
You don’t know. I don’t know either. But I am here with you. We are here together. On this planet, at this time. And all I can say to you now is that I feel you. I acknowledge your pain. And I share it. You are not alone. I am not alone. We are together in our shared pain.
In the injustice,
the f***ed up-ness.
I feel it. I feel you.
Because we are all living under the same sky. We look up at night time and see the same moon. The same cacophony of stars, screaming down: look at us, we are infinite, as are you. We are part of the same mystery that has you living your wild, precious life on a rock that is floating through space, while thinking it is all normal.
You have access to the same blindingly beautiful sunset as the poet, the inventor and the mad woman. It is within your remit to hear the roar of the lion and the howl of the wolf. You can watch the dolphins spin and dive, poets of the ocean. You can fill your soul with birdsong or you can block it out entirely with your own mental chatter. The choice is yours. The choice is always yours. Even in the depth of winter, it is all there for you, it is all there for me, it is all there for us and it is up to every one of us to choose what to do with it.
A tree in winter is incandescent. Its naked branches are spread out stark against the sky and the watered down sun glances off its branches. You too are lovely in the winter of your soul. In your rawness. In all your naked pain. You are real, you are true, you are here.
You are here.
So what are you going to do next?
Because next is what matters. Not all that has gone before. That is over. All over. Thank God it is all over.
And what remains?
And the entire, miraculous universe.