Bold

My cousin swims in the cold ocean. I want to be that bold. 

Oh! - how my writing is full of such wanting. 

I turn on the shower and stand under the hot water. Then I nudge the nozzle to warm, then cool, then cold. A few seconds pass before I turn off the shower and lunge for my towel.

I was born into mourning. My uncle died at sea while I burrowed in my mother's warm wet womb. Is this why, I wonder, I sometimes feel heavy with sorrow? And why I try to prevent and fix pain - for me and others. As soon as I spot a hurt, I attempt to mend it with the needle and thread of my mind. If it cannot be mended, I go. 

The world is full of sadness, a cacophony of despair! ---Say this is my earliest absorbing. Say this is my earliest awaiting.  

For years, I have trudged through books, an explorer searching for a new world. A world where there is no sorrow. A world where everyone is healed and whole. 

Perhaps, this acknowledgment of my unconscious quest will lead me toward lucidity and healing.  

The Buddha spoke of pain and the end of suffering. He said, "Pain in life is inevitable, but suffering is not. Pain is what the world does to you, suffering is what you do to yourself by the way you think about the 'pain' you receive. Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." 

 

Pain is essential and indeed inevitable. But the suffering (the inner wounds perpetuated by fear and disillusionment) can be unlearned by books, stillness, silence, and time. I cannot stop all the suffering in the world. However, I have power in my inner world.

I was born into peacemaking, into soothing my mother's wounds with the daily work of motherhood, of busy days with another babe. This is where my journey began. And now, at age 39, I am settling into clarity. It is the mind. It is the being. It is the body. It is the journey. It is the search and find of self. This too is living... though it is missing something. 

It is time now to set down the books and step out into the old wild world. Yes, she is swollen with sorrow, and vibrating with joy. She is burning and flooding, blowing, and growing. She is blurry and brilliant, vibrant and violent. None of it is all good. None of it is all bad. It all is what it all is - spectrums upon spectrums of light and color and texture. 

When I fall onto days of dense gloomy grays and puddles of glossy blue, it is a sadness for the profound separation I feel from the old wild world, - loneliness for Mother Earth, adventure, and the thundering bellow of my booming heart. It is time to swarm the warm light, soft colors, and string instruments. It is time to sing a rainbow of sounds and swim in a symphony of snow. It is time to expose my body and soul to the cold. 

It is time to be bold.