what comes at 3:37am
in the middle of another dark night, tossing and turning, with the gods of sleep withholding their mercy, i pulled myself out of bed at 3:37am, consumed with fear and loneliness.
i have discovered that in the middle of nights like this, the physical act of pressing my swollen face against the cold linoleum of my kitchen floor can be incredibly soothing... and quite the event to witness. the other thing that helps me through these desperate nights is the discipline of writing without the luxury of self-edit. so last night, i decided against lying prostrate on the kitchen floor, and picked up my notebook to write. as the words took physical form on the pages, it was pathetic, desperate, almost feverish. i could hear the sound of panic, pacing the chambers of my grey matter with tap dance shoes. i wrote like this for probably 20 minutes. all my questions, fears, anxiety, depression, shame, loneliness, heartache, all coming out at once as if the flood gates had been ripped off their hinges. and then i thought to myself "yeah, this is really gonna help calm me down. great idea."
for the past few weeks, i've been gorging myself on elizabeth gilbert's book eat. pray. love. and last night in the midst of this frantic encounter with my writing, i remembered something i devoured somewhere in the first 50 pages of the book:
"...i'm spiraling in panic, like i always spiral when i don't know what to do. so what i do for tonight is reach for my notebook, which i keep next to my bed in case i'm ever in emergency trouble. i open it up. i find the first blank page. i write: 'i need your help.' then i wait. after a little while, a response comes, in my own handwriting: 'i'm right here. what can i do for you?'".
elizabeth goes on to explain how it is in her own voice, her own words, her own heart, the place where something holy resides, that she begins to find some peace and comfort. the voice of someBody holy and wholly-other-than begins to speak to her from within. so last night, i took a breath and a swallow of water and said out loud, into the corner of my bedroom "please help me. please." and the frenzied hysteria that had been streaming out of my head and onto the page, simply stopped. and from somewhere both simultaneously within and outside of myself, these words came...
"let go. you are holding on so tightly to what you think you need. but you have absolutely no idea what that is because you have utterly and completely lost yourself. so let go. get away with me and i promise you, you will recover your life... i promise you. you will recover your life.
"this is it. this is going to be your salvation, but this will not be easy for you. this is going to hurt for a long time, and this will not be over soon. and i have nothing but love to offer you. and i know you don't believe that you deserve this.
"beloved, be loved. let go.
"right now, this is about you and me. no one else. no one else. when you are alone with your face to the floor, i am there, hunkered down in the corner. when you want to feel anything other than this, i am within and around you. when the loneliness rolls over and envelops you, i am there. so hold. hold fast to me. i am there.
"get away with me. i am infinite.
"i am the infinite.
"i know you are too worn out to believe this right now. but you are going to be ok. so just let go. beloved, be loved. let go."
i have discovered that in the middle of nights like this, the physical act of pressing my swollen face against the cold linoleum of my kitchen floor can be incredibly soothing... and quite the event to witness. the other thing that helps me through these desperate nights is the discipline of writing without the luxury of self-edit. so last night, i decided against lying prostrate on the kitchen floor, and picked up my notebook to write. as the words took physical form on the pages, it was pathetic, desperate, almost feverish. i could hear the sound of panic, pacing the chambers of my grey matter with tap dance shoes. i wrote like this for probably 20 minutes. all my questions, fears, anxiety, depression, shame, loneliness, heartache, all coming out at once as if the flood gates had been ripped off their hinges. and then i thought to myself "yeah, this is really gonna help calm me down. great idea."
for the past few weeks, i've been gorging myself on elizabeth gilbert's book eat. pray. love. and last night in the midst of this frantic encounter with my writing, i remembered something i devoured somewhere in the first 50 pages of the book:
"...i'm spiraling in panic, like i always spiral when i don't know what to do. so what i do for tonight is reach for my notebook, which i keep next to my bed in case i'm ever in emergency trouble. i open it up. i find the first blank page. i write: 'i need your help.' then i wait. after a little while, a response comes, in my own handwriting: 'i'm right here. what can i do for you?'".
elizabeth goes on to explain how it is in her own voice, her own words, her own heart, the place where something holy resides, that she begins to find some peace and comfort. the voice of someBody holy and wholly-other-than begins to speak to her from within. so last night, i took a breath and a swallow of water and said out loud, into the corner of my bedroom "please help me. please." and the frenzied hysteria that had been streaming out of my head and onto the page, simply stopped. and from somewhere both simultaneously within and outside of myself, these words came...
"let go. you are holding on so tightly to what you think you need. but you have absolutely no idea what that is because you have utterly and completely lost yourself. so let go. get away with me and i promise you, you will recover your life... i promise you. you will recover your life.
"this is it. this is going to be your salvation, but this will not be easy for you. this is going to hurt for a long time, and this will not be over soon. and i have nothing but love to offer you. and i know you don't believe that you deserve this.
"beloved, be loved. let go.
"right now, this is about you and me. no one else. no one else. when you are alone with your face to the floor, i am there, hunkered down in the corner. when you want to feel anything other than this, i am within and around you. when the loneliness rolls over and envelops you, i am there. so hold. hold fast to me. i am there.
"get away with me. i am infinite.
"i am the infinite.
"i know you are too worn out to believe this right now. but you are going to be ok. so just let go. beloved, be loved. let go."
posted by Anonymous at 4:56 PM
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