Moving through

Thoughts about continued injustice, unfairness, inequity, divisiveness, endless suffering across the board really gets to me from time to time. Some days I come up for a breath of air, and manage to stay afloat, aware and happy for many weeks. But there are phases where I’m just cowering under the effects of all this Bad News.

I’ve had to eke out space and time for feeling hopeful, to nurture a sense of optimism even when it’s all but missing. Those parts exist in all of us. Parts that can trust, without reason. Parts that can find joy in the midst of sorrow. Parts that can hope, stay alive and focused on optimism. Strangely, contrary to what I believed, these parts showed up not from trying to “stay positive” but by allowing myself to feel broken, hurt, hopeless and touched, and a bit altered by the pain.

I have a strange feeling a time of intense suffering may be the pathway to worlds where there is softness, more listening, and where gentle togetherness and kindness can lead the way. But we may just have to sit with the pain for a while longer before we move through to another world.

If the neighbourhood, the country, continent, the world at large are all macrocosms of each of us as individual units, then surely they do are made up of all the parts. The good and the bad. The glorious and the grotesque. The rich and the meagre. And if understanding myself, really knowing who I am authentically has meant including my rage, my fury, my ignorance and my shadow into the fold, then surely the monstrous proportion of evil that the world is displaying at large needs to be seen, sat with and honoured, so we can heal and find our higher selves as a collective too?

I don’t know. These are just thoughts I’m having on a random Friday afternoon, with a brain addled by muscle relaxant.

A question I ask myself almost on the daily: What do I need, to stay grounded in hope even as I feel pain and suffering all around me?

Some days I have the answer, everything fits in and I am at peace. Many other days the answer eludes me, guilt and rage bubble to the top, and I have no choice but to sit with it.

One year ago: Pictures for words
Two years ago: Finding flow again
Three years ago: This is the story of my body

Pour your thoughts over mine

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