Much of the distress we feel is because we have become alienated from parts of ourselves that we fear, that we prefer to pretend don't exist.
These parts are like the headache we decide is from too much salt (not a brain tumor) or the tingling in our feet we determine is from standing too long at work (not diabetes), until it's too late, and whatever it is takes over our lives... or takes life from us.
The path to healing, then, is to open ourselves to all the frightening crazies within, because nothing takes away the crazies like clearly identifying and compassionately embracing each one of them, one-by-one, one-by-one-by-one: the mountain shrinks to a molehill; the monster morphs to a mouse (and if you're afraid of mice, to a Junior Mint).
The challenge is to sit quietly in the dark, until you see movement out of the corner of your eye, and to slowly turn your head until you face the dark corner out of which something begins to emerge. You say:
"Let me see you as you really are, not as I have imagined you to be."
It will step from the shadows, at which point you will say,
This suddenly hits me-- the hours spent with my therapist have been among the most creative (like Art!) and holy (like God!) of the last eighteen months.
This is where and when the disparate, broken and wandering pieces of myself come into view, are welcomed back and join together.
Needing a moment of awe and wonder? Go into your nearest hardware, paint or home-improvement store, find the display of paint chips, stand in front of it and look.
Be silent, be still and look...
Hundreds (thousands?) of colors fill your vision, a universe of browns and yellows, oranges and blues, reds and purples, grays and creams...
Words are like clothing; we try them on to see how they fit. Some suit us, so we wear them again; some we try once and abandon. Some fit and flatter; some make us look frumpy and cheap.
Words come and go, trendy and smart one month, off to ARC the next.
Eventually, we lose the need for any words at all. This we call sacred nakedness, and we all get there eventually.
Setbacks may not be setbacks-- they may be detours on your journey during which you get to see scenery you otherwise would have missed-- nice scenery, lovely scenery, at times take-your-breath-away scenery, at times take-your-arrogance-away scenery, at times take-your-illusions-away scenery.
In any case, really, really great scenery, worth the extra time.
I backed the car out, paused to watch the garage door close, then glanced in the rear-view mirror-- with a start I saw Sophia grinning in the back seat.
"Good morning," she said, cheerfully.
"Ah, yes, morning," I managed. "How are you?"
"I am well," she said. "But busy. I don't have much time, today."
"Oh," I said, intending to sound disappointed, but not doing it convincingly.
She chuckled as I pulled into the street. "I enjoy seeing you even if you don't enjoy seeing me... and I know at times you do."
Which was true; I could always relax in the knowledge that no matter the circumstance, Sophia saw it as it was, clearly and without judgment.
"So?" I asked. "What is it today?"
"This latest suffering-- don't waste it."
I slowed for an intersection. Don't waste it? A new life development, with grief, physical and emotional pain. Waste it? "How would I waste it?" I asked.
"By failing to respect it. By being so into it that you blind yourself to what gifts it might offer you. Suffering is hard, of course, and hurts; don't make it worse by wasting it."
We drove a few blocks in silence before she said, "Drop me at the light, if you would."
I pulled off into a parking lot, stopped the car, turned in the seat and looked back at her. She continued, "I have been around a long time. In that time, I've experienced much loss. At times I wasted it, not waiting for it, not allowing it, not honoring it. The most painful of experiences can be the richest." She stared out the window, more with herself at the moment than with me.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She put one hand on my arm, the other on the door handle. "Just don't waste it," she said and exited the car.
As I merged back into morning traffic, I noticed my suffering sitting beside me in the passenger seat. "Ah, it's you," I said. "Fifteen minutes to the office. Tell me what's on your mind..."
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