the chasm

I wish that I could fall back into the womb. 

Simple peace and contentment without care. 

Ignorant bliss and quiet comfort 

Before birth's rude insurrection! 

And then, danger and fear and deep longing, 

Gentle nurture and safety and care 

But not enough to protect 

From monsters feeding on a fresh new heart. 

I wish that I could fall back into the tomb. 

Pain and sorrow lay dormant there 

And could not touch me 

Before the resurrection. 

But now, expansive and raw and electric, 

All new and sensitive and so very hard 

With edges sharp and unyielding, 

What is my life? 

It had been a week since their whirlwind romance had ended abruptly, and for him, without warning. He had experienced so much in the intervening week that he could scarcely conceive of it all. The flood of emotion had overwhelmed him thoroughly, and he had yielded himself completely to it. He was exhausted now, and eager to get on with living and hopefully moving closer to his true center than he had been in times past.

He had given himself up to the emotional torrent of the past week because he knew that it represented a distillation and culmination of many things that had been working in his heart for a very long time. He knew that not all that he was experiencing was simply about the loss of this wonderful, beautiful woman who complemented him so delightfully. He knew that it was that loss compounded and interwoven with a lifetime of loss and wounding and fear and anger that he had never been able to express adequately or experience freely until now.

Now he was exhausted, and needed desperately to rest. He would give anything to let the emotions go and just move in the clarity of his mind and the simplicity of plans and activities and tasks. But he knew that this would not happen instantaneously or easily. He knew there would be ebb and flow to the process. He knew that he would have many more bouts of turmoil and sorrow over this thing, and that layers from his past were now exposed and raw and waiting for more work to be done. He wanted rest, but he was reluctant to shy away from the exposure and vulnerability he had so newly discovered for fear that he might lose it. His transformation was so bittersweet right now—so dangerous and painful and uncertain, and yet so promising—so exhausting and hard, and yet so rich and full.

He had no way to know what lay ahead. Would the next turn bring relief? Greater sorrow? Fuller expressions of rage and anger? A deeper encounter with the darkest fears of his deep soul? Eternal joy and contentment? Or perhaps some mysterious blending of all of these things?

He felt as though all the hardship and misery and turmoil of the past eight years—no, of his entire life—had converged upon the past week. Now he was in a unique position to shift his heart, his patterns of behavior and thinking, his expectations for himself and others, his very core. This shift had energy and direction all its own, apart from his conscious intentions, and would have its way with him. He was excited and hopeful. This lost love had opened up a crevasse that ran straight to the center of his being. Now there was movement and shifting and upheaval like he had never before experienced. All the remarkable and transforming experiences of which he had written over the past year and a half had been preparations for this moment. Now he stood on the edge of this great chasm that had opened up into the interior of his soul, and without hesitation, he dove headlong into the great expanse of it.