Story: What am I unwilling or unable to feel?
There’s something that’s turned me loose from safe harbor.
I’ve wandered beyond myself.
I’ve meandered in thought right away from my own being - like a toddler that’s lost the grip of his mother’s hand.
At first, I didn’t quite realize I was lost…but now that awareness has gripped my throat, panic is seeping into my bones.
What am I unwilling or unable to feel?
I’ve been running high on checklists, WebEx invites, and fear.
I’ve been battening down the hatches for so long, I forget to look up to check the weather first.
Sun’s shining. Mirror glassed waters.
I’ve been fettering away nuts & seeds & hopes & dreams & pantry shelf-stable products for so many a month while tamping down desires for shared air and breath and space… turning down the volume in my mind that wishes, prays, and hopes for a better tomorrow…jamming out instead to the practical voice that urges safety and stillness - lying in fearful wait.
Breathe held. Tight. Afraid.
What am I unwilling or unable to feel?
I wandered away from myself so slowly that I didn’t feel the uncoupling occur.
Like a railway cart that eases away from its engine only to find itself directionless. Motionless. Still.
So much burrowing, protecting, deflecting, mental resurrecting.
I’ve been exhausted and elated in the very same exhale - someone, please explain to me how that spectrum is even possible?
So much sorrow & goodness & loss & light.
Conflicting emotions - a swirling cacophony of this newfound mixture we’re deeming “normal”…
echoing around the bowels of this hollow cauldron we currently call “life.”
What am I unwilling or unable to feel?
I call myself home.
Like a mother calling her teenager in from an evening of kicking the soccer ball around with friends on the grassy knoll at the back of the neighborhood.
At first, I don’t hear the sound, but slowly, I quiet, and I turn.
I don’t want to leave the sodden turf.
I’m comfortable here in this adolescent angst.
I know the terrain and the rules of the game.
I know I have to keep on running, progressing, obsessing, adolescing…
I know I can’t stop or look back or look down or breathe.
To kick. To score. To achieve. To try to fit in, all the while knowing I never really will.
I hear the call again, and my brain stills, only for a millisecond.
And I remember. I remember what’s calling me.
The recognition of self comes and goes in a flash, but it’s enough.
The flash remains like a bright light that I see even after I close my eyes at night.
I heed the call, and I leave the game to those whose wiser selves go unanswered.
I come home to me. Back to that safe harbor. That peaceful grace. That knowing and wise self that couples my body, my being, my ancestry, my spirit, soul, universal consciousness, and beyond.
I come home. I see the lights are on and the fire is burning bright.
What was I unable or unwilling to feel?
The listless loss has passed and I am present once again. At home. Awake. Present.
At least until the next wave crashes and…
I forget how to remember once again.
— Lisa Kjellström