To my friend in the darkness.
Darkness is of immeasurable value, dear one. It is the thing that can tell us most about what we need to work on to be happy, about what has made us the way we are. The whispering dark things will tell us everything we need to know, if we can bear listening. They will never tell us the truth. They will always bear the mark of pain. But they will draw us a precise map of where the trouble lies.
The human, fragile, vulnerable qualities that arise in the face of darkness are such a large part of what makes us loveable. Even if what troubles you is unknowable, impossible to understand. Even if it is as vast as the sea.
There is a condition to this beauty. The darkness is not beautiful when hidden, neglected or suppressed. The darkness is beautiful when has been awakened. Your darkness is like this. It is tangible, when someone has touched their darkness: wild and alluring and brave. It dances like a flame in you.
I know the hardship. The deep grooves of habit, our neural pathways so well trodden we can fall in and get lost in them for days. We’ve unknowingly groomed ourselves for unhappiness, filled the sacred river that runs through us with corpses that fill and foul until we believe that it was always like this, that it can never be any different. When that happens the infernal noise and rot simmers into inescapable disquietude. We need to unhook each thought from the riverbank, one by one. If the river flows the darkness is no trouble. It is natural and useful. The darkness is what allows the light. Working with the darkness instead of against it, you experience the body’s autumn and winter, follow the natural cycle of things.
Your darkness will always be there, my beautiful one. But we will get the waters flowing again, I promise. In the meantime, I will sit in the darkness with you. I know it well. I am not afraid. x