I almost died. It could have gone either way. And as I was jettisoned back into life, I saw something that’s hard to put into words. But let me try. You might be working to pick something up. Or put something down. You might be desperate to forget something terrible. Or longing for a love to set you free. Or grieving someone who is irreplaceable. Or trying to find what will keep you going. Fortune or misfortune. Love or loss. Every circumstance incubates the soul so it might germinate while we are here. And wishing you were someone else or somewhere else only makes things worse. I know it’s hard to look this deeply into what we’re given. But at the cellular level there are even spaces in stone. And spaces of light in everything dark. And spaces of safety in rushes of fear. And spaces of release in flashes of pain. Even spaces of dawn in the cramps of grief. It’s not about running from one to the other. But entering where we are—thoroughly—until we can see a way through.
This excerpt is from my new book, Things That Join the Sea and the Sky: Field Notes on Living, due out from Sounds True Nov 1, 2017, available for pre-order on Amazon.
*photo credit: Gelgas