Walking on Stormy Waters

Sometimes you try to keep your head above water and the waves just keep hitting you in the face, but when you can rise up just a little, then you are strolling upon undulating hills of fluid. It takes enormous amounts of focus, concentration, hope, and faith. It takes courage to know that the things you can't control may merely be stepping stones for the future.

I don't think I slept much last night, but every time I woke, I was able to go back to sleep by thinking about smells. Apparently the smell center is close to the sleep center in the brain and suddenly I have a non-medical tool to help with my circumstantial insomnia. It is a great blessing.

I have spent my life doing for myself. It is in my blood, this independent streak. It isn't pride. I remember being this way as a tiny child, wanting to do it alone, by myself, as if that was the only path I could see. It is physically painful to accept help from others. I eventually came to the conclusion that this was some form of great strength, doing things alone, when in reality, I was left exposed to the elements, blasted by the wind and storms.

I suddenly and painfully came to the conclusion that this lone tree was in a storm that could not be weathered alone, and there was a forest of support nearby. As it turns out, the forest does not weaken, it is strength, and when I am about to fall I find myself sured up while my roots dig a little deeper. It is a beautiful phenomenon, and not the crutch I had always supposed it would be. I was always willing to be there for others, but something magical happens when you are able to graciously receive the hands extended toward you.

Torrents

Should I say this is an attempt to catch up? This past year is something I can't recover and the storms have stripped me to the bone, exposing raw flesh and at times an unstoppable fountain of bitter tears. At times? Oh you brute, Honesty! You drive a deep nail when you remind me that those acid tears burn straight through my heart almost daily. 

My pantomime of fairy dust isn't enough these days to mask the real desert in my heart. I have seen despair in spades that has cropped up and replaced the garden of hopes and dreams I nurtured for years. How could this blade of reality strike my life with a bitter winter at the moment it should be blossoming with the tender dreams of a rich and prosperous life? Blight, disease, cankerous rust eating away at the beautiful moments I once dreamed of for over a decade have taken me from unsinkable to unthinkable sorrow. 

Were you always waiting in the wings, like a dark shadow, waiting to darken my glittering sunshine? Did you laugh as you thought of that most glorious moment when my heart should soar on wings of joy only to be shattered by your fleet of burning arrows? Did you taste the rotting flavor of my defeat as I could no longer hold onto my prized hope and it fell from my clutches while I spin out of control toward the daggered blades of stone? Here I lie, bleeding, aching, cast from flight to bruised and torn disrepair, unable to soar to the aid of any other. Those few who catch some glimpse of this hell toss bandaids at gaping wounds and occasionally pour an ounce of fire into this charred and uninhabitable space. 

The very salve I require is not available to heal. Instead caustic words brand deeper in never healing wounds and cripple, weaken, crush the last remaining bits of me that are reaching out for the cure that I now see as only a mirage.