Staring at a blank page is equivalent to an artist staring at a blank canvas: it can be thrilling at times, but mostly, from my perspective, it can be terrifying. The spinning wheels in your mind become blank, despite all of the inner dialogue that generally creeps in... you're having this conversation with yourself, inside of yourself, immune to the outer world around you, whether it's momentary or not, it ceases to exist for that moment in time (non time), and you're in it... you're in the dark.
Darkness has so many relative associations, I won't begin to bore anyone with where it comes from, the distinctions between "good" and "bad", functional and dysfunction, wanted or unwanted... it's just darkness. If we start from there, from some sort of uniquely neutral void, it is nothing: no-thing. Grasping that piece is rather strange in some ways. I see it hanging in a gallery, almost self-indulgent at times, humorous mostly, like the outcast of the abstract world.
The world around me is complaining about rain. I'm not sure if I can read one more statement of how "awful" it is or how someone is sick of it. It's common thread to complain about rain, common thread to enjoy and embrace sunshiny days.
I love the rain. I can recall last summer there was a good solid month of nothing but rain. I believe it was otherwise known as June. It rained. Just rained. All month. I don't recall much about potential flooding in the way that we're experiencing it now in New England, but there was a ton of rain, and the complaints never stopped. I found it beautiful -- the rain that is -- it was breathtakingly peaceful. I can recall the one sunny day we had and the journey to the top of the mountain and breathing in Gaia's miraculous energy. It was beautiful, and the rain the day after was just as lovely.
I'm at home in the rain. It's like a shield of comfort. The thing is, I'm too comfortable in it. Retreating to my inner cave is of such ease, it's terrifying at times, to easily jump back into old comforts, away from the world, away from everything.
I've been continuing to work on the receiving love meditations... today... I wanted to free myself of the ego-clinging that came up and stand in the rain and wash it away... but I didn't. The more I sat in the meditation, the harder I found it to actually breathe. All of this stuff, rising to the surface. My mitra said this would happen, that there would be times where things would come up and it would be difficult, and I was as prepared for that as anyone could be. It's generally what happens when you begin to work with and heal shadow aspects of self. Still, in the moment it arises preparation means nothing except to say that your naivety at times is faulty.
I listened to the rain, in sync and so oddly connected to my emotions: slow and drippy as I contemplated where this was coming from; faster, yet quiet as the connection of what it was became clearer; pounding against the window in furry as it came so fast, like my insides could drown in an instant.
That was scary.
I have to say that I haven't felt that way, that sort of deep, dark depressive moment in quite some time. I'm trying not to think of the when so much as to remind myself to not run away from the moment out of deep discomfort and despair, but also not be in it in a way that I'm allowing it to live me. It reminds me of what Lama John says about the breath: to not breathe the breath, but instead allow the breath to breathe you. This feels the same in some ways. It speaks to me more about allowance vs control. I don't want to control the thoughts that arise, I want to understand them.
The rain helps with that. It's like survival at times. Today it's dark. I'm dark. I'm dark in a non-destructive way, but I'm dark. In the darkness, in the rain, in the uneasy breath, not quite scared, but on edge. Nervous.
It sounds so... intense when actual words are associated with feelings. My level of being scared or nervous isn't quite the same as someone else, nor should it. If we stop generalizing terms for everyone then the uniqueness of what we express would then fill a gallery with impressive art. I like art. I love how the story can change from one brushstroke to the next. I want words to be the same. Not this generic brand.
Maybe I'm just too picky.
I'm reflecting outside of myself. I'm distracted. I don't want to go to the darkness. Even today, when I was knee-deep in it, I walked away. I distracted myself. Completely conscious of what I was doing, I elected to not be in it. I elected to hold on instead of clear and transmute. Why?
I was scared. From an emotional standpoint, not at all intellectual, I was scared. Intellectually I know stepping into that darkness doesn't mean I will immerse myself so deeply as to become depressed again. It's been a couple of years since I have experienced that darkness to that deep of a degree. But when you're feeling it, when your emotional body is screaming at you that it's in pain, intellect gets pushed aside, and you become a warrior, fighting for life... my inner dialogue reads that as "fighting for light".
That was a powerful recognition.