Learning Not to Question the Darkness.
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Stepping into death with open arms seems counter-intuitive. I have found, in working with my own mini-deaths, that it is a highly uncomfortable place to be.
It feels like blackness. There is life, but it seems to go on without me. I bear witness to the shapes that live out their stories with indifference as I come to know that suffering and heartache appear to be one and the same.
I have cursed the darkness, and it only brought me back to the present moment and the ever present reminder that my mortality is limited.
I have sat under an oak tree in the cemetery and spoken with the ghosts that appeared to be watching me. They saw the tears that fell from my eyes and asked me why I was not happy. I in turn, asked them if they lived well during their brief time on Earth. Mostly, I heard a resounding Yes, but there were some that stood with tight lips so as not to give away their own suffering.
I have seen the crazy-haired dark goddess in all of her wild fury, and watched as she tore the floral wallpaper off my perfect bedroom walls. And the longer I stood there, the more enraged she seemed to become. She covered the house in gasoline, and with a smirk on her face, struck the match and burnt it all to the ground. I have since been left empty-handed and full of questions.
I am learning not to question her anymore.
I am learning not to fear her either.
For now I see, all this time while I was happy sitting on an old tattered secondhand chair, she was fashioning a throne made out of gold for me. “Sit tight, priestess,” she says through gritted teeth as she whittles away at the hard metal. She sees my grief over the loss of the comfort I had built around myself, and she reminds me that life is a constant process of death and rebirth.
Just as the goddess giveth, she taketh away. I bow to her in reverence, and I give thanks for the things she has left me with.
But I find that there is still a nagging question in my mind: will I ever smile again?
I wonder to myself if she loves me enough to bring me back from a love I missed the moment our eyes met. I wonder if it is possible that she does in fact have something better for me, or if someday I will simply be the ghost that stands tight-lipped in the cemetery as I watch the beautiful maiden curse the sky, so as not to give away my own suffering.
I know that suffering is an option, and that I will not stay here forever. But until I find my way out of this darkened and unforgiving maze of despair and lack, there will always be the reminder that my bloody knees won’t heal if I keep getting dragged, so it’s best I learn to let go.
How can I let go with complete trust and sit in the middle of the darkened field, hoping that she loves me enough to bring me back to her womb? How can I trust my alone, and rest in good faith that I won’t be eaten alive the moment I surrender? How can I live fully in the blackness, or is it even possible?
It seems I’m meant to learn, and so I invite it in, with open arms and open hands, even though it feels counter-intuitive.
Because I have found that if the grip will not loosen on its own, surely my fingers will be pried away from the rope I cling to so tightly to.
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Natalie Sophia is a self-proclaimed writer, healer, yogini. Her mission in life is to heal and be healed. She loves to laugh, to feel and to write. She began her journey of awakening a few years ago, and though there are times she longs to go ‘back to sleep’, she knows she has work to do. Her work and her passion are one and the same, and she hopes to inspire others on their life path to attend to their deepest longings as a soul in a human body. Natalie feels that life is meant to be enjoyed, not endured. She knows that pain can be inevitable, but there is always choice in the story created from that pain. Feel free to check out more from Natalie on her website and Facebook.
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