alone & alive

"…Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you."— David Whyte

As an act of self-love, I have stepped out of myself and have joined a few courses to help me reconnect and deepen my spiritual beliefs. I was browsing through my Instagram feed and came across some lovely spiritual journaling pages. In the description, I noticed that the poster was offering free admission to one of their courses and I had to look into it. From there, my Soul took over and here I am.

I have always considered being alone as a sign of weakness - I've felt, for most of my life, that my worth is defined by my relationship status. If I am single, that means that no one wants me or appreciates me. I have felt more lonely while being married than I ever felt while being single. This is not the way it is supposed to be. Though I have always found solace in having my own time, I have also feared it with an intensity that sometimes scares me.

I often use the metaphor of dark, cold water or darkness and shadows creeping up behind someone to explain depression, but I have yet to explore (in writing) the cathartic nature of darkness, the healing that it offers. There are different types of darkness, definitely - shadows versus the night versus the inky black of depression.

Being alone does not have to be terrifying; as an introvert, I am well aware of the energising nature of spending the day in quiet solitude, but feeling as if no one will ever choose you is where that solitude takes a horrible turn. Being cradled in darkness is often my preferred state - I do my best work, am the most inspired, at night; but when that darkness no longer cradles you but strangles you into silence, that is when it becomes something nearly uncontrollable.

photo: artur rutkowski

My journey inward - and downward - has always been a path through a dark forest. This journey is also a fragmented one; I may stray from the path, get distracted by the flora and fauna around me, but I always find my way back and continue.

The tales I weave have always been a contribution to this journey, and when I find myself unable to write I know that it is a period of trailblazing. I may lose myself in the brush, but a few sweet words can so easily draw me back. I feel the most alive when I am called back and my own gentle and dreamy words flow from my soul. I have entered into a period of reflection, of continuing down that dark path in the forest, inward and downward into my soul.

the ebb and flow of love

Love is probably the most sought after emotional connection the human race chases after. It is the most confusing and the most aggravating because there is no real way to describe it. I chose the word anagapesis for the most recent 'word of the day' because I have been dealing with the feeling of no longer loving certain people for a while now; now that I have had time to reflect on those thoughts and feelings, I can confidently say that this anagapesis has contributed to my recent darker state of mind. It doesn't seem to matter the time frame between when you were with someone and the present, falling out of love is painful.

photo: jenelle ball

Love is fluid, it comes and goes and ebbs and flows. As we grow and change, love grows and changes. We promise forever when there is no certainty in this life. I did not realise just how much my view on love has changed until someone from my past opened a dialogue with me. He has been very concerned about my state of mind recently and has not been quiet when voicing his feelings. I thought, for a moment, that perhaps in the future, we could give it another chance--but sitting here, now, after having the time to contemplate the prospect, I find that I am no longer in love with him. Granted, I still care for him and wish him a happy and healthy life, and the memory of what we shared still gives me butterflies, but there is no chance of a future for us. 

We believe that love gives us certainty, but in reality, it is one of the most uncertain emotions a person can experience. Falling out of love is not a guarantee--in fact, I believe that you can never fully fall out of love if you were ever truly in love. You will always carry a little piece of that person around with you, and in the wee hours of the night when the air is still and you are surrounded by silence, their face will appear in your mind and you will wonder what they are doing, how things could have been different. 

lacuna

Her finger traced the edge of the photograph, ran over the face of the person pictured—it had been six years, but the pain in her heart had not yet faded. Though he was not gone from the world, every day felt as though she had buried him instead of having been left by him. His absence had left a hole in her soul, a single piece of the puzzle that was lost and she could never regain, never find again.

She had no idea where he was, and she knew that even if she attempted to find him, it would lead nowhere. He had made his mind up, his decision rather clear—though he loved her, he could not be with her, and he could not bear to see her again. He had left in the morning, having gathered all of his things in the weeks proceeding his departure, and had given her a final kiss. There was so much longing, so much tenderness, in that single gesture that she wished she had stopped him; even years later, as she sat on her porch as the sun rose over the trees, casting its yellow rays through the branches, she remembered the feeling of his lips on hers.

photo: daniel peters

There was no point in daydreaming, in recalling those lost feelings and thoughts from a life she had left behind. There was no point in longing for a person who, most likely, never thought of her—but, even though she knew she had to let go, she could not bring herself to drop the photograph, to burn the letters, to erase his voice and his smile and his eyes from her memory. All of the pain these images, these memories, brought her could not, and would not, inspire her to forget the time they had shared.

He had finished the puzzle that was her soul, he had found all of the scattered and lost pieces of her mind and had glued them back together with his gentle touches and soft kisses. He had been the one, and just as she had always known would happen, he left. He left when he had realised that she was too broken, even after having brought her shattered pieces together, and it was too much for him. But he was not weak, she was just too complicated.

She had always known that she was not meant for the fairy tale happy ending—from a young age, she knew that she would end up alone. But it was the fact that she had found that love, that one person who completed her, and she had lost him. It broke her. She would never be the same again.

She set the photograph on the table and took a sip of her tea, watching as the shadows of the trees played and danced in the sunlight, as the soft breeze moved the branches—movement to her right drew her attention away from the scenery and to a figure standing just outside of the makeshift fence.

He had changed little since the day he had left—his eyes still held the mischief that had first drawn her to him, and his lips still pulled up on one side in a grin. He gave her a gentle wink with a nod, which sent a chill down her spine.

It had been six years, but there he stood, in his uniform, his bag slung over his shoulder, and it was as if no time had passed. It was as if he had never left, never said goodbye. He had found his way back to her, found her in the depths of the forest in a foreign land. She ran to him, opened the gate, and jumped into his arms. Her tears soaked his shirt, her sobs drowned out his calming whispers. She would never let go of him, she would never leave his side.

Perhaps, against all odds, against all of her feelings of being inadequate, she was meant for a fairy tale love after all...