Feels Like Home

PRAYERS HANDS

The longer I live, the more I realize how much left there is to learn.

Here are some things I do know:

Sadness feels like this: A longing to sleep, to not have to work anymore.  A weight in my belly.  An empty, black space in my chest.  A sting behind the eyes.  A clamp just below my jaw.  Minutes that drag on endlessly.  Watching paint dry.  Lonely.

Anxiety feels like this: A tea kettle inside my chest.  A rumble in my belly.  A desperation flinging from my fingertips, rubbing my brow, as if I could claw the thoughts inside my head out with bare hands.  A vacancy in the eyes, never really in the place where I actually am.  Excuses and rationalizations.

Anger feels like this: A bubble in my throat, like I’ve swallowed a golf ball.  A hard set to my jaw.  Narrow eyes, white-hot and stone cold.  A tingling high up in my cheekbones.  Nostrils flaring.  A furnace just below my ribs.  Accusations and insults.

Frustration feels like this: Losing control.  Out of my grasp and beyond my reach, but I am running, running toward the way I think things are meant to be.  Disappointed when my right doesn’t align with somebody else’s.  Trembling, shaking, shouting on the inside, while the outside must be content with a stamp of my foot or an unsatisfactory sigh.  Realizing I never had any control to begin with.  Stuck.

Peace feels like this: Transitory and fleeting, or solid and deep.  Dark blackness, calm and still.  It feels like what lies at the bottom of the ocean, or underneath the countless layers of paint on my kitchen cabinets.  What is always there, has always been there.  Waiting to be stripped away, to be felt.  The exquisite beauty of a melody.  So touching and piercing there is almost pain.  And yet beyond pain, just intensity, the intensity of everything all at once, as much as you can possibly let in.  And for as much as you can let in, there is more waiting for the moment you grow, waiting to be understood.  As soon as you touch it, you are afraid you will lose it.  But I take a guess that it’s a matter of semantics, really, and it’s not something you ever have it all.  Once you know that it’s something which you are and have always been, now and forever amen, then you realize you have never been separate from it at all.  You have only been a little deaf, or blind, or dumb.  Peace feels like trust, the kind with no exceptions, and it feels like love, the kind with no boundaries.  And if it were mine to give away, I would wish it for all the world upon you.

Be well.  

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