< Life is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering at the edge of emptiness >
What is that feeling of coming up against something important - a deep story perhaps - a kind of discomfort that contains no immediate logic - but that is strong enough; scary enough, that I veer off. Is this a kind of ‘truth’ moment where I am suddenly as close to some knowledge of myself as I’ve ever been? Why. No, how do I scramble away like a nocturnal animal at the sight of dawn flowing over the mountainous horizon? How can I soften to avoid backing off and to mature a willingness to trust and move straight forward? Maybe my fear is connected to the thought of losing my way; of wobbliness, of tears cascading, barreling through my intricately built walls of all that beautiful protection - holding back a reservoir of something deep and dark. Am I so intent on avoiding discomfort, that I mistakingly miss my life? Can I acknowledge, daringly, to myself that I am lost - and step into that feeling with breath and with ground? And that somehow, owning my own lost-ness may move me toward an alchemy for dizziness. The world offers itself as a reminder for this feeling. I can trace it back from the deep, plunging seas, to the delta, the wide flowing river, the tributaries made of settled sky in mountain crevices, melting against the soft, vibrant genesis of I imagine, all life. Moss that gathers on cooled chunks of earth with all the quietness and I imagine, loudness, of space watching overhead. This one gorgeous existence, nestled up in the equilibrium of longing and fear. I move straight forwardly in one direction, while the powerful forces of what I cannot know, claw forcefully at me in my chest, pulling me backwards and sideways. There’s a crumbly feeling there - I spend most of my time not owning it. Spinning stories that protect me from the illusion of overflow. I look around. There are no coordinates; no guideposts. I am no where; and somehow, I am everywhere. “I am lost,” I whisper. And on the other side of fear, I feel relief gathering amongst the hard bones that have held me up for so long. The current of salt water pouring through, wildly like, in this deep and dark autumn that is my life.