Beautiful

This is a short recount of an experience I had during a meditative practice, informed by Internal Family Systems, Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, and embodied trauma recovery.  Essentially, I was just sitting in my home office, resting and thinking about how I was feeling. I wasn't using any substances, nor was I short on sleep - this experience happened just exactly how I wrote it, my senses involved, as well as my imagination.  Instances like this put me in awe of consciousness and the plasticity of the human brain.  Here's my unusual take on depression. ----- I sat in my soft bucket chair, and leaned my head back. Pressure radiated my eyes and wrapped fingers around the back of my head, pulling my eyelids down and my head back.  I listened to my body as it told me where I felt the most supported. The chair was cradling the back of my head, creating a tiny bit of traction, or lift. I focused on that sensation as I asked, "What should I do now?"  "Accept the de...

It isn’t always like this. Most days, I feel the light, the expanse of the future, the forward gusts of life. I peer through my spyglass, set my course, and let the wind push me away from the smooth edges of my grief. But in my sleep, when I’m floating unguarded, sails berthed, the undercurrent tugs my anchor loose, and I find myself pouring over the edge of now back into the deep, still pool of loss. The water closes over my head, welcoming me like a lover who knows I will always return. And instead of gasping for air, struggling to escape, I remember I have my own gills, and I let myself sink deeper and deeper until my feet brush the bottom and I come to a rest. I gaze down, past my feet, and see the bottom of this pool is glass. I sink lower, until I rest on my hands and knees, and I let my eyes unfocus as I try to sense you through the translucent barrier. The water swirls through my hair and stings the inside of my nose, the pressure squeezing my heart like a vice. But I wait, as ...

 I don’t know you, but I saw the red-and-blue flashes. A bit of open street before a long line of traffic, emergency vehicles stopped at angles where they shouldn’t have been. A black car slammed nose-first into a cement pole, white airbags pushing outward against the windows. People in uniform stood in the gray dawn, directing traffic, their faces grim. I had just left home. I was on my way to work as the sun rose behind me, listening to my audiobook, thinking about my new job. And then, just past the black car, I saw the twisted, charcoal wreckage resting in the middle of a neighborhood entrance— both wheels still intact enough to recognize it as a vehicle. I noticed where two police cars were parked nose-to-bumper in the bike lane, and through the tiny gap between I saw what they were trying to shield: the lumpy yellow sheet spread on the sidewalk. And I knew. Maybe you had just left home too. Maybe you were on your way back after a long overnight shift. Like I said, I don’t kno...

"Easy baby, don't move, " I coax as I crouch behind the hocks of a well-built chestnut mare. The toes of my boots twist and grind into the mud and gravel as I try to find the best position to access her heel without putting my face directly within kicking range. Although, who am I kidding? a horse can kick basically anything within 5 feet of it, on any side. Doesn't matter where my head is, as long as I'm this close. The key is to be gentle and careful. She's been hurt, this mare. Somehow she got a rope caught around her left pastern and before she was able to break loose, it friction burned a deep gouge through her hair and skin.  The wound, left dirty, has crusted over and now looks and smells awful. I am well within gagging and kicking range, but the mare knows I'm trying to help her. She stands gingerly, trying to hold still as my hand reaches out to hold her fetlock steady. "Good girl," I murmur just loud enough for her to hear, as I exa...

Sometimes we feel high on life, close to God, spiritually strong, and then suddenly- our supply of joy runs out. We may be the ones responsible to provide that joy to others or we may be the ones who receive it, but when that joy runs dry, it's deflating. What now? Feelings of guilt may come, feelings of hopelessness...was our original joy even real? How can we get it back? And then we remember Jesus. And when we ask Him to help, He takes plain old ordinary moments of life and turns them into the elixer of rejoicing. He can make water into wine. I don't know how He does it, but He has done it before. It was His first miracle, taking the ordinary and turning it into the rare and significant. Jesus fills needs, don't you forget

If you and another person agree on absolutely EVERYTHING, at some point you will disagree on absolutely EVERYTHING, because one of you was lying. 

On my knees, my head in my hands, crying out to God at the picture in my mind. Three hands - two holding a hammer and a wickedly long spike, poised to pound it down into the flesh of the other hand, which is gracefully, meekly, unresistingly laying on a rough log, allowing itself to be destroyed. "Why would You do that!? You could have stopped them. You could have moved Your hand. You could have spoken; You could have said no." I did this for you.  "Oh God, no. I don't deserve it. You know what I've done, the person I've become, the evil in my heart. I don't deserve this." No, I think you do. I think you deserve it.   The earnestness in His voice halts my protests. This is the only way I can save you. And I WANT to save you.  You are worth it to Me because of how precious you are.  Please, let Me do this for you.  It's the only way.  I can't even speak, but my heart barely manages to whisper, "Ok." And as I k...