Dark Times

I am putting pen to paper as it were, this absence of writing has gone on long enough. This absence of light leaves me stumbling blindly. This absence of freedom has bound my wings, these feathers gripped and torn against coarse rope. This absence of prose and script and verse fetches frustrating longing.

Dark times, but one might not say so obviously – as I exist.

The last month of employment, I am travelling back and forth from Sydney, three days a week of work, a tired two am commute from the capital to the coast and an immersion in office tedium for the majority of the working week.

I left you last with lessons learnt and learning and yearning for more. The desire is fulfilling as the heat is turned up, facing my demons and standing with my fears – I cry as confusion and tension and frustration make their beds within my house. This life divine suffers in agony as it revels in joy and I love them both.

I am put to the challenge with lovers and circumstance, close tantric interweavings revealing my scariest vulnerabilities. Crystal clear mirrors showing my darkest selves, am I aware enough to see it or does this aspect of me pass by awaiting another time and place?

Oh you want specifics?

It is hard to write, for I feel to elaborate may take an age. Or am I excusing myself? Too gripped by fear to expose my experiences.

Dark is how I feel today, but this does not apply to the month just gone. The heart yoga retreat forming a new connection with Swaha Devi, a loving physical relationship empowered by exchanges of deep healing. The divine working through speech and action as we investigate our deep hurts and move for resolution and release.

Having a lover is important, the physical part is enjoyable yes, but this I feel right now is a mode of trust. While in a state of ease and understanding with a person a door is opened, this allows the darkness out as well as light, and to hold space for one another in these embraces is a ride of fulfilment.

Learning how to be vulnerable is a long road, our cultures have developed such strong institutions on protecting ourselves from hurt that we walk around in shining suits of armour. The most important thing is to be safe right? To struggle for certainty in an uncertain world. To hold on to something that is impossible to hold on to! Hilarious. It is time for me to release, to be open not just on my deathbed or when comfortable but right now, in every bloody moment.

This paradox that the mind works with is hesitation to be open with someone, what if they’re not on the same wavelength or they have the potential to hurt me? Oh look, I’m back in that pattern of protection again. But it is oh so difficult to sway attention from that cynical voice inside, to share my raw self to the world as intended. Swaha and I enjoyed these graces and each other. One becomes skilled at detecting an intimate other’s resistance and if the time is right prompting – “OK, what’s going on? Out with it”.

It gets easier each time, and the tears flow.

One of the visitors to stay with me at the Canberra Cottage was Vajra, my old teacher and his two students, Domenic and Callum. I was very happy to provide them with sanctuary as upon hearing stories of their travels my mind conjured images of cold, wet and uncomfortable camping, the three monks none the less were happy to be travelling and I was happy to revel in their stories – all the while however an echo of desire toward my own journey bounced against the walls of mental perception.

These guys stayed a week, and along with Swaha Devi we had group meditation in the mornings, each family member sharing a technique, prayer or discourse with the five and afterward we followed with shared meals and creative outlets. The third day in I fell deathly ill and found myself not far removed from my bedroom, the guys and Swaha looked after me while I purged; a feeling of gratitude sprouted through the suffering for without I would certainly have trouble operating.

No remorse, no let up, the chaos continued, the physical compounded with mental fog and emotional turmoil – darkness flooded in as I clawed and crawled through life barely running on one cylinder – I felt blindfolded wading through a deep and gummy swamp, neither direction nor distance was known but I kept following my water logged feet.

The last month is upon me. I watch my bank account fill up with numbers and have good mind toward the future. I feel the darkness receding, my relationships and interactions seem to be improving, my sense of who I am is strengthened through this ordeal, or more importantly who I am not. My relinquishing of identity to just exist and flow is one of the bigger lessons coming out of this and I am really feeling empowered. The strength to say no when I need to, to treat a refusal in loving kindness instead of accepting, sacrificing my energy and becoming resentful – I get to choose.

Two more weeks, a new bud, a leaf, the cold dark winter of experience clearing as my tree of life shakes its branches preparing to release the coil of spring.

 

 

[Image credit – http://thy-darkest-hour.deviantart.com/art/Angel-Wings-PNG-06-276751147%5D

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