Feeling the warmth of the sunlight on my skin as we walked hand in hand along the river, leaning into each other to whisper the words that are blossoming in our hearts, I noticed my fears subsiding. It was then that I realised that the Hydra that I have been fighting isn’t some big, bad monster attacking me, but that it is merely my own anxiety. Could it be that it was there for a reason? I decided to drop my sword the next time it would show up and invite it in for a cup of tea. “Please sit down,” I said, “now, tell me, why are you here? Where have you come from and what is it that you wish to tell me?” We talked about the experiences we have lived through together and I listened to all of her worries for some distant future, and after a while, I began to understand. I took her in my arms and held her tight. After I let her go, I gently told her that we are going on this grand adventure and I would like very much for her to join me and remind me that I am not to be naive, but strong and confident.
Why is it that when the story ends, we begin to feel all of it? Beautiful words from The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur. I have found them to be true. It is only now, upon the beginning of a new story, that I feel the entirety of everything that has gone before. Each night I battle monsters from my past showing up in my dreams, trying to reclaim the land that they have lost. “You are not welcome here,” I yell to them over and over again, “I want you to get out of my life!” What should be the easiest thing to accept, a love that is healthy and nourishing, quickly becomes overrun with fear and anxieties. My angst tells me that I should look for the nearest exit-sign, before the unicorn gets a change to change his colours. Like my own Lernaean Hydra, it grows two heads for every one that I chop off. I get so tired sometimes that I just want to lie down and give up. But I refuse to be trapped by the past, so I reach for my sword again and again and hope to God that one day to find a piece of firebrand.
I was in a sacred space, singing and chanting barefoot, when out of nowhere another demon appeared. As he was dancing around me, looking at me with intensity in his eyes and bewitching me with his long, black curls, I couldn’t help but wonder: what is it with these dark horses? Even after I have figured out that I am supposed to be finding a different creature – a unicorn with rainbow coloured manes – they keep showing up. But then I remembered the words of Shakti Gawain from her book Living in the Light. She explains that the external world can teach us about hidden aspects of ourselves that we can’t see directly. The people in our life are reflections of the characters and energies that live inside us. Only when we embrace our darkness, she says, can we truly live in the light. In that moment I realised that I’ve gotten used to externalising my dark side instead of owning up to it. As if by magic, the demon lost his power over me and became just a person, someone I know nothing about and need not concern myself with. I would not be inviting him in to play a role in my life, thank you. For all the darkness I need is already inside.
Only three months ago I was sailing smoothly along the shore, legs stretched out on the bow, hands folded behind my head, relaxing in the sunshine, blue skies all around. I had a nice day job, a place to call my own, a furry companion and I was ready to find new love. Cut to stormy weather at sea, dark clouds everywhere, me over here barely hanging on to the stern of the boat, treading water as I wonder how much more I can stomach. How am I supposed to adopt a cat when I’ve just buried one, has anyone seen my date, I thought these demons were a thing of the past, and without a temp job can I even afford my home? At least I can always count on my anxiety to keep me company through difficult times! But the one thing that I realised, after swallowing another gulp of water, is that I may be on the outside of the boat right now, wondering where port side is, but I am still the captain of this ship. I am the one looking at the stars and navigating these waters, no matter how murky they get. As soon as I realised that, I felt really calm. As Ovid wrote in Metamorphoses: saevis tranquillus in undis. Calm amidst the raging waves…
For the past seven months my beautiful Jet and I have been inseparable. Every morning she’d wake me up at sunrise, wait for me to finish my tai chi practice, rush to the sofa in the living room (brush time please!), cuddle up on my chest whenever I’d sit down, wait for me to come home and fall sleep in my arms at night, her soft nose pressed against my cheek. And now, out of the blue, this sweet creature, light of my life, is gone. Leaving me with nothing but memories. I will always remember that she was so scared on one of our last visits to the vet that she stuck her little head underneath my jumper, hiding in the safety of my embrace. It melted my heart to see how much she came to trust me, this little rescue animal, in the short period that I knew her. Faced with an emptiness that cannot be filled, I lost faith that there is always light to be found in the darkness. Overwhelmed with grief and feeling utterly defeated, I questioned everything. What’s the point in trying when we are all going to die anyway? But like the phoenix rising from the ashes, I too must start over. And so, with a saddened heart, I set out to rebuild all dreams lost.