As life is wont to offer, I have experienced the ins and outs of the deepest darkness and came one desperate night many years ago to be sitting on the back stairs of my home on Garfield Avenue in Salt Lake City trying to sequester myself for the powerful and frightening things that had been drawn to me.
And maybe there comes a point in everyone’s life where they’re faced with the threat of feeling so alone they can’t do anything but look at it. Where, in the heaviness of it all, they’re forced to wonder aloud to a universe they don’t even know is listening, “what can I do? Please help me.”
But that is where I was that night. Barely breathing inside a primordial reset where all Time is only one inhale then the next, and absent any momentum as if the grace of hope had evacuated Humanity.
And in the long story of my survival, I’d talk about the darkness that’s often needed to unchain you from the ways that were destroying you. And— in the short story—would sing the lullaby of my children. How I was a failure who wanted to give up but hadn’t yet finished singing a verse.
But Life doesn’t always move within such coherence; sometimes Life says profound things via singular bursts of indefinable energetic substance— (dark matter? the wobble of dark energy the scientists now talk of?)—as your body sits on fraying carpet in a state of unknowing.
Because on that dark night, within the recesses and cavernous complexities of both physicality and soul, I felt so lost yet still there remained something that eclipsed all other. An energy that rose out of the seeming-incompatibility of my survival to quiver so that I could hear embedded inside atoms a truth I’d never seen or heard. For we may not receive all the things we believe we need to feel loved in this life; the outside world might ignore, betray, deride and shame until we do not feel safe to exist and are pushed into desperate places on the dark stairs at 1531 Garfield Avenue.
But in that night rested the awareness(?)—a wave? A vibration?— and in one second, I saw the love I’d given the world and knew that this love had come to show me “itself.” That in a moment of giving up—a kind person pushed off a cliff by a cold bitch world—the love I had given for the beautiful and tender things in this world wrapped around to become the experience of safety I’d always been seeking. And in that second, I knew that love would always be there—inside me, looking ever to become itself—and that it was enough, and in fact was the very healing all of humanity had forever been seeking.
And people might hurt us but they can never void the love we have to give to the precious things of this earth because it’s always with us, making darkness into light.
So let’s love our world. Love our earth. Love the beautiful and tender things that speak this language; bend down to hear them breathing with life—hold their hands; hear them purr—and in the knowing that nothing can ever touch that, sit bravely in the darkness breathing life into the love we’ve always been.