A new breed of suffering has emerged, the color of my office walls.
The walls, the yellow walls, like the enchanting Victorian wallpaper of old, but instead flat and stifling under the florescent lights. The only escape is the electronic window that sucks me in, keeps me wanting more, and leaves me hungry every time.
Clicks, taps, and imperceptible hums and drums delve deeper and deeper into my subconscious. The slow, creeping fear that I am becoming less and less human, and more and more alone.
Funny how we think that sanity is sitting on a chair and staring at a box. Funny how our comforts are also in boxes. Boxes of wires, boxes of shoes, boxes of cereal, little boxes. They are still made out of ticky tacky.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
– Jelaluddin Rumi,
Translation from The Essential Rumi by Coleman Barks
My mind is a shadow box
Shapes around me
Playing out scenes
That i don’t understand
And my interjections
Feel strange and foreign
In their shadow world
I am too tired
This dark night
That never seems to leave
Memories of joy
And memories of competence Continue reading
This is a journal entry that I wrote several months ago. I recently came across it, and I was stunned at how directly it spoke to my heart. I want to share it as an encouragement– not because I have perfectly overcome loneliness, but because I still struggle sometimes with that feeling. I believe God will help me to be completely full of joy, so I don’t have to be lonely–but it is a journey and a struggle nonetheless.
No one can get my oil for me,
I must get my own.
Nobody can dig this well for me,
I must dig my own
No one can pray this prayer for me,
I must pray alone
There is a wellspring deeper in me
Deeper than my most intimate friend can touch
Deeper than my father can reach
Deeper than my mother can know
Their words fall in like pennies
And the water below rises in anticipation
To hear them falling, falling, echoing
A sound that resonates and vibrates in my soul—
But the waters wait untouched