Threshold: magnitude or intensity that must be exceeded for a certain reaction, phenomenon, result or condition to occur or be manifested. *Gateway *Point of entry, or beginning
Within the clutch of winters long nights I find myself grappling with the darkness.
Darkness that has many names.
It can show up as doubt.
Other times I’ll call it insecurity, feeble timidness or quite simply isolation.
The impulse to detach, the habit of separation.
Fragmenting me from them, my world from reality.
Loneliness, you know,
that aching feeling of discomfort,
a constant fear that I must be the only one.
No one can relate, no one will understand.
The unquenchable need for some silver lining, some sign that there is purpose for my ephemeral existence on this rolling rock. The cold depths of winter pull me down, these pale grey days and frosty sea mornings reaffirm all the deluded, self-inflicted thoughts, plunging me into unbearable alienation.
The abrasion of hesitation leaves me questioning each move. What is right, am I wrong? Have I done enough, can they read my bluff? Thoughts churning, oscillating amidst two extremes yet craving the inbetween.
My chest crunching down from the weight of perfectionism and the need to be something special. Every bit of self worth hanging on a string, screaming for validation, crying out ‘recognize me, can’t you see me’?
My mind falls submissive to the cold, frigid air. As I tap the trees I feel they’re hollow. Bleakness meets the eye, the edges severed and sharp. The forest appears empty and futile with it’s white floor, fragile limbs and hibernating life.
How uncomfortable it is to lie bare and broken as the scars of the past tamper such soft skin. The tree’s have shed their leaves, let go of last seasons sorrows… Why haven’t I?
Afraid of being myself. Desiring change but resisting it just the same. Concealing these emotions, hiding the devotion. Ashamed of the passion, is it time to cash in? I can no longer hide, letting go of the ties.
How long has this heart been battered? These dirty sleeves, torn and tattered. With the first fallen snow comes a purifying blow. Blue skies and sunshine beating down on my face. Another unpredictable mid-December day walking along the lake.
The tide ebbs and it flows with a hushed cadence. ‘Shhh, sweet child, have some patience.’ Can’t you see these moments are constantly fleeting, listen to the subtle rhythm within you beating. You’re getting where you’re going, no need to be scared, all you deserve is quietly being prepared.
Like the wood from some far away land. How did it get here? Do you think it had a plan? Slow down and ease in, does there really have to be a reason?
I made it, I sifted the sand. My legs stand stable even with shaky hands. Gentle grace surrounding, void of rigid demands. Maybe sorrow comes from the desire to define and understand.
Change, unmoving, arrives in it’s own time.
In nature nothing is rushed, it is in the seasons I must remember to trust.