Monday, January 9, 2012

Looking Back . . .

Reading this, and being so moved by it, makes me realize that there may be a quality that all suffering shares. It's written by a woman, and I'm a man. It's written by someone much younger than I am. By someone who fell into an affliction that has never been a problem for me. Someone much younger than me, looking back and reflecting on herself when she was even younger, and beginning to die inside.

Despite all these differences, the post still speaks to me. I often wish I could have spoken to myself at the age of 12, just like the author of that post did. And while the particulars of the advise would be far different, the desperate urgency would be the same. As would the compassion.

You dream of romance; of being loved and loving somebody back. Only, you don’t speak of this desire because it seems ridiculous. Who would ever love you?

Ahh - How well I remember feeling like that!

Sometimes I look back on my life and I try to determine the exact instant when the downward spiral stopped, and I began - ever so slowly - to come alive again. We suppose that all great turnings are dramatic, seismic shifts. But in my life I've never been able to trace the thread back to the one moment, the one action, that started my climb from the grave.

This piece makes me wonder if the turning point was hearing an inner call from an older self: me. Now.