A human life is rife with pressures, whether intrinsic, extrinsic, imagined or very real. We’re a resilient species, but why the persistent layering of weight, warring, woe and worry?
There’s a light rain, on a bracing October morning in the Oceanside region. It’s Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. I chose to stay on the island, rather than trek back to the mainland. There’s an air of strangeness and uncertainty this month that made me feel it wiser to stay put.
The clock in the square strikes a happy chime signaling 10am, then curiously shifts to a monotonous, somber bell to count out the hours. Even the clock seems to be disaffected by the persistent agitation that is covid, sighing as it goes through the motions, perhaps emptied of the usual spirit that would fill the space here with communal bustle and hubbub. The fountain nearby splashes meditatively, layering a touch of white noise onto the atmosphere.
Desire engages the infinity of the universe. Our programs and conditions limit their expression and flow.
I go where I am most needed.
I am no martyr, nor a victim. But I have suffered for it, inasmuch as my capacity to grasp the bigger picture is possible in the moment. I have triumphed and overcome, grown through and been undone. That, I’ve learned, is crucial to the integrity of the process and utterly unavoidable.