This past year has been one of darkness in my heart. Heaviness. Weariness. Burden.
There has been emotional unrest; sorrow without explanation. Not depression in the clinical sense, but a heaviness over me like a lead cloak. Weighing me down. An invisible iron fist laid firm upon my back.
There has been physical malady. Headaches. Fatigue. Pain. Illness. Dizziness. The physical symptoms of this unseen weight are too nurmerous – and some too personal – to detail here at length.
Spiritual apathy, spiritual anger, spiritual searching…even spiritual constipation all served to heap sack up on sack of weight onto an already laden back on the brink of snapping.
There came a purging. A purging in the most literal and physical sense which seemed to cleanse the filth, muck and blockades holding captive every aspect of my being.
Now there is peace. Rest. Joy.
Though, there has always been joy. Just not the kind that registers in one’s step. Or breath. But the kind of deep, quiet joy that rests in the fact that mourning may last for a night, but joy will rise with the morning sun.
As I reflect today upon the darkest day the world has ever known – the day the Love of my heart was put to death for my heart – I am keenly aware of the very intimate Easter taking place in my own soul. The darkest hour of the night has passed and I can see the sun peeking it’s face over the horizon. The warmth of its rays just begin to caress my face.
I close my eyes, and raise my arms to revel in the immense beauty of it all. I kick off my shoes, feel the dew on my toes, every part of me breathing in the freshness of a new day dawning bright and clear. Throwing off the cloak of a night lasted too long, as the realization dawns that I am alive.
I do not have to fear the darkness; the night in which reality appears much changed. Because while my heart may feel it for a time, the reality is I am never alone. Have never been alone. I have been protected on every side. This soul has been alive through it all. Because of the Hand that laid not firmly on my back, with weight and blame. But because of the Hand that sat cupped beneath me, holding me up when there was no strength left to stand of my own accord.
Today is my Third Day. The sun is rising because the Son has risen. This heart is alive, beating freely and wildly. The purpose of this life has been ever before me. The purpose has never been the question. Its the existence that has bogged me down. And now, it is not time to merely exist but to live.
To live and breathe and dance in the Light of the sunrise of my soul.