This is the doorway into revelation, into self healing.
I suppose I travel in many ways in this life. Most of all, I travel in my mind. It makes me wonder what is real, at times. It probably doesn't help that I have doctors telling me that I am prone to psychosis. No, this doesn't help at all. Sometimes fantasies are important. I have been listening to some spiritual podcasts that Oprah does, and she starts out each podcast with the same little phrase. "Spiritual enlightenment, transcendence, growth, [or whatever,] needs time. We need to take the time." Of course, that isn't what she says exactly, but I can't come up with the actual words, only 'this' meaning. And this meaning is profound for me.
But also, in taking time, I need to allow the fantasies in my head to unwind. What am I passionate about? What is real for me, even if it is not "real reality"? I have to allow all of my essence to wander down many a road, and to envision 'many a thing'. I have to ponder love and beauty, and all things important. Doing this takes time. I have the time, if I allow myself to take it. This is the doorway into revelation, into self healing.
Today, the mist gathers in the valley before me once again, as it has for several illuminated fall mornings in a row. I have a modernized version of the Four Seasons playing, and my head is pounding from little sleep, and a few drinks on an empty stomach the night before. It was a raucous night. The once annual Halloween shin dig at our local watering hole, which many a folk attend. Music, dancing, and debauchery. My sweet man came home early, and I went back to pay the tab. I stayed unto the bitter end, even though I should've known better. It is never that fun to see the bar fizzle out in emancipated glory. I am not sure what we were being liberated from, perhaps just our sober selves. But then, the night eked on, in worried sleep, and now I am up, awakened by a phone call from my two year-old niece, asking me, "Where are you?" Her voice was angelic, and yet I was frozen, locked into passion plays in my head, that are still unwinding. I make this all sound psychologically unhealthy; but, it is 'fine'. I feel thrust into a reckoning of sorts with the deep workings of my spirit, and I know not where this day will lead.
And yet, it is all so simple; the day benign, everything predictable. Just under the surface, also lay many questions. Do I awaken to this day, and shut down the lucid and sultry dreams that have overcome me? Do I snap out of it, and trudge on? Do I take the time to allow the questions inside of me, to unwind and unravel their truth? Am I to choose torture? Or if I snap out of it, am I just plasticizing on the surface, so that I cannot see beneath, to context and deluge, any longer? It's all in there. No matter what reality I choose to accept or to indulge in. It is all within me; wanting the surface in chaotic dreams. So I am just pausing, one moment longer, before I allow this day to unfold, in its predictable-ness. And as I sip my coffee, I ask myself, which road do I wish to travel?
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Emily LeClair Metcalf
You have been added to the notification list for author Emily LeClair Metcalf