“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.” --Herman Melville.
Been feeling a bit like Ishmael lately. Been feeling the need to explore the watery places in this world. Been feeling the need to escape to the sea. Everything in me is screaming, "run back to the ocean." I want desperately to escape schedules and reality, and just sit in peace on the beach with the ones I love best. And yet, at the same time, thoughts and images of me floating alone in the wide open black sea nag me constantly. I'm floating there alone. Not knowing what will happen. Questioning. Fearing. Worrying. Not trusting. Anger washing like a flood over me.
For as long as I can remember, I've imagined myself floating on my back in the ocean during times of trouble, sorrow, uncertainty, anger... It dawned on me tonight that my lighthouse, the thing that has most certainly saved me countless times from slipping under the black water, has been my family. I imagine myself almost losing hope. And then, I see them. I spot them. I swim with everything in me to get to them. And finally, as the waves toss me up onto the shore, the clouds part, the sea calms, the sun comes out, and I am sitting on the beach. Surrounded by all the great loves of my life.
I'm thankful that tonight, as anger and uncertainty threatened to take me down into the great black depths, I found my lighthouses. I'm thankful for peace. I'm thankful for calm. I'm thankful I can push away anger. I'm thankful for all the great loves in my life. I'm unbelievably blessed.
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