Do you ever experience those times when you know something is brewing? Do you ever feel, deep within you, from a place that’s hard to put into words, that something is about to erupt?
Do you ever sense there is something bubbling… gurgling… up?
I have been aware, for a few weeks now, that there is something going on for me, right now.
I’m also aware I am over a year into my menopause and I’m wondering if that may be the cause of this lack of peace I feel.
I have decided to write about this, here, because I am nudged it might help.
I am guided to pour all of this out, onto the page. Typing and describing, untangling to make sense of this, feeling it and expressing it, immersed in it as I write. The alternative is I sit with it, in my head, going around and round, exhausting myself in the process. This way, at least, feels like it contains possibility, the possibility to unravel a piece, or maybe, more.
Yes, there is frustration, and, I’d ever go so far as to say, anger… rage? maybe. There is also pain. My tears are always near the surface just now. I want to cry, and I long to be held. “It’s ok” I want to hear you say.
“It’s ok not to know.”
“It’s ok to be confused.”
“It’s ok to want to sit and do nothing, or to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling, still.”
“It’s all ok.”
Sometimes the right thing is to do nothing, to wait, and to see what transpires. Sometimes the right thing is to act, to speak up, to begin to express, no matter how clumsily, the feelings that are hard to find the words for.
“What are you frustrated about, dear heart?” I ask
“What is the rage that is bubbling within, a messenger for, my love?” I enquire
“I am a writer,” I hear. “I need to write, and express, and let out these tumultuous emotions.”
“Let me speak,” she says.
“Trust me to create,” she whispers.
“Let me show you. I know, the way,” she smiles.
And so I see, at least a piece, in part. The writer within is hungry. She wants to write. She wants to give voice to these urges. She is calling me forth. She is courageous and bold. She is not concerned with what you might think. She is ready to reveal in the cold light of day, the things that I want to paint with a rose tint. She is able to express, simply, what is. She’s not interested in making it pretty or even presentable. She just desires to speak out, to tell it, exactly, like it is… raw, real, unedited.
“Why?” I ask, curious to know. “For what reason do you desire to express yourself?” I genuinely need to know.
“For the good of all,” she replies, confident in her passion.
“For the sake of Love and of all that is right and true,” she asserts.
“There is beauty is what you perceive to be ugly,” she offers me, “There is value and service and a great gift, and medicine, in what you are afraid to reveal.”
“You can trust me,” She smiles. “I am your pleasure, your joy. I am your path to peace. This is what you were born for. This has always been your path, your salvation, your solace, and, your work. Surrender to me. I will guide you. Honour what you guide in others dear one, their passion, the light in their eyes. Fall gracefully into my arms, I will carry you home.”
Tears now. This time with a smile, with a shudder of knowing. I feel it. I can rest. I see it. I can sleep. I have my answer. I must simply keep writing. A wave of relief washes over me.
“Thank You” I say to her, the one who is hard to describe, the one who I struggle to label.
She is Truth.
And so it is.