TW: hopelessness, depression, fear, abundance, don’t try this at home.
That night I had been spinning, unfortunately thinking about all the things I hadn’t done (right) yet.
I dragged myself out of bed to visit the restroom and realized that every item I saw on that short walk had been given to me.
We could call it manifesting or generosity or caring. Or something else.
While spiraling and feeling the full weight of my thinking around my dusty, shaky luck, everything within my current view had all appeared here at some point, not as an act of personal will.
The bed, inherited in the divorce. The towels, a gift. The mini fridge is another gift.
All brought by the spontaneous generosity of my friends and family. Or odd circumstances.
How I came to be standing within these walls at all bordered on the miraculous.
Even my relationship— once something I had nearly given up on, despite his stubbornly unforgettable presence— had been made real now, again. Revived, then cherished.
I used to feel hopeless about that too.
At some point, I had wanted all of this in that specific “I know about you and you aren’t here yet but you’re coming” way of knowing that has always seemed to either be a premonition or a summoning.
These things all eventually came around naturally. Like it was all meant to be here.
But natural ease had not been the case lately.
If anything, lately almost all creations had felt forced, annoying, like trying to paddle upstream and stay afloat while low key wishing to drown just to get it over with.
Playing the game on hard mode.
The power of inspired action had seemed to be in very short supply.
As though the lights were suddenly cut and the darkness blinding for too long to seem temporary.
Like the magic wands of yesteryear no longer could be counted on to hold a charge.
All incantations seemed unsuccessful at summoning their usual magical effects.
An old teacher I used to follow spoke at length about shadow work.
And while I don’t think about shadow work very often anymore, I had also not consciously conjured the wanted conditions of life very often lately, so I figured I was probably standing in some shadow.
This teacher did everything full out.
Used to talk about meat hook moments— a metaphor for dark nights of the soul where the body is picked clean and the protagonist hangs there, on the meat hook, waiting for something new to arise.
This seemed to be her favorite way to express the turmoil around rising consciousness or perhaps an encouraging message for how downright miserable and lost most of her followers happened to seem.
I’d try to normalize that kind of agony too if I had her followers.
Anyway, this night, a mini existential crisis was at hand. A meat hook moment.
And tonight’s flavor was emotional. Fear of loss. Of being outclassed and obsolete. And out of touch.
The imaginary, real-feeling thought that being passed by had already happened.
Of being caught out, holding the bag, the only one without a chair as the music careened to a stop.
Magic wand not working properly, intentions stubbornly failing, the palpable slow dull ache of creations undone and unmade.
The phoenix (bird, not demon) right after being burned down and still unrevived.
The stale, sweaty disappointment of loss and failure and slow march toward oblivion with the pilot light still woefully unlit despite all efforts to create a spark.
The unique sense of knowing exactly what was possible and doubting. Because reality here looked different than expected and those thoughts became tinged with sadness, disappointment and cold rage.
Angry at the slide downwards.
Frustrated that different choices couldn’t have been made.
Furious that shipping the creation du jour felt hard on some days and impossible on others.
This must surely be a case of low mood winter.
Before the hopeful green shoots of spring, when everything seems deserted, barren, gone.
The only thing left clinging to hope, the stale, clammy consciousness, pulsing below the surface.
And yet, there in the darkness, the hints of past successes still scattered all around, hopefully as reminders.
Waiting.
