Space

In this quest for solitude, for quietness, there is a space that slowly develops and grows.  It's a space of being, of unknowing, of comfort.  It takes a while.  It's letting go of all anxiety and bitterness, all regret and guilt.  It becomes simply a space of presence.  Here I am, this is what is real, and this is OK.  The mind becomes quiet.  All the "should haves" or "what ifs" fade.  Life becomes now, not the past or the future.  The pain takes on a different hue; it is not any less evident, just not as sharp.  Not as dark.  It becomes part of who you are.  A companion that sits with you.  It's familiar. It's welcome.   Perhaps at the bottom of all this is that the fear has lost some of its power.  There are still so many questions, so many uncertainties, but confidence in your inner strength and power has gradually replaced the paralysis.  Emotions still rage at times, but you find yourself observing the moment around you a lot more.  The morning birdsong.  The wisp of dew on the windscreen.  The setting sun.  All of this whispers into your soul that all is well.  Everything has purpose.  And beauty is not in the memories, but right in the middle of this space.  Right here.  There is an ancient story in the Hebrew tradition of exile.  Jeremiah writes "Settle in.  This will take a while.  Build houses, let your children marry, and do your best to prosper those around you."  This settling in is the beginning of space.  This moment is uniquely and gloriously entirely yours, along with the all the questions, difficulties and pain.  It's all part of it.  It all belongs.