Last night the frustration was so thick I had
to leave my house, change locations and breathe
a bit so I could pick my way through its density.
It had been a late afternoon or evening that
could have caused me to feel defeated. I wasn’t
defeated, though. It felt more like a foreshock
of an earthquake, if there is such a thing.
It was like the stretch before waking of that
sleeping giant nestled in dream-land alongside
my heart and my lungs.
This morning I sat on my front porch and my
pencil in hand, watching the steam rising from
my coffee into the soft early morning light,
still bent a bit so not quite as forceful
as I knew it would become far too quickly.
Last night, I walked out of a familiar restaurant
and started crying. Not mere tears running down
my face, but flat out, full-force, gut shaking sobs.
If I had been at home, I would have fallen to
my knees and screamed out. In the moon-lit parking
lot, I gave myself space to gulp, to flail my
arms around to find the handle to my car door
which I could no longer see due to the
blinding of the salt from my tears.
I crumbled into the seat and let the
tears do their thing.
Ten minutes later, I dried my face and smiled,
satisfied and content.
Ten minutes after the new sun-rays became
adolescent and they argued with the steam
rising from my coffee, making it disappear,
erasing it from my view. I frowned: I had
been enjoying watching it rise towards heaven.
God sent a breeze to remind me of the words
from Ecclesiastes and the song from the Byrds,
which collaborated to sing, “To everything (turn,
turn, turn), There is a season (turn, turn, turn),
And a time for every purpose, under heaven…A time
to laugh, a time to weep…A time to dance, a
time to mourn, A time to cast away stones,
a time to gather stones together.”
God is funny. I smiled up at him, laughed
I wanted to write about last night’s tears again.
I started to ask a question in my notebook.
“Were last years tears about…” and a quick “no”
came off the pencil tip.
I know what they were about – they were about
being brave. About knowing what you know and acting,
even when it is frightening. The tears were about
processing, about permitting myself to feel what
I needed to feel – and the push towards
Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote, “Courage is a first
step, but simply to bear the blow bravely is not
enough. Stoicism is courageous, but it is only
a half way house on the long road.”
I let go of the stoicism. It is time to link
arms with courage and move forward.
What about for you?
Are you ready to link your arm with courage
and move forward, too?
Don’t answer right away. Take a moment to consider
the power of this question, individualized for you.
Listen now as your heart brings a situation into
your consciousness, one you may have been looking
at with too bright or two forceful a light, so you
couldn’t see the steam rising.
What if you listened and looked with a more fresh,
bent light or even under the light of only
the moon and stars?
Invite that light to come into your presence,
quietly. Invite it now, and then wait to hear
its message for you.
Where in your life are you ready to link your
arm with courage and move forward?
There is a time for peace, calling you now.
Link your heart with courage and move forward.
This essay was originally published in Daily Passion Activator, Why not Subscribe today? It's free.