Torrents of emotions that I cannot place and I cannot name fall upon me like the rush of a mighty waterfall.
There’s an ancient power in naming – but right now it seems that words are inadequate in describing all that I feel.
What happened to you?
I don’t know how to tell you. And it’s more than a hundred percent accurate, for stammering tongues cannot fully bring out the travails of the human condition.
If only the mighty waterfall can run and cleanse the palette of my murky heart, washing away all the reds and yellows and greens and blues and purples and browns all muddied together to form a new different shade of black.
What is the end to all my writing?
Too often I have been accustomed to looking for, and reaching the end. Concentrating with a laser-like focus on the end result, with no thought or regard to the process.
What is the end of all this accumulation of possessions?
What lies deeper, way beneath all the rotting mounds of wasted food peppered with wrinkled dollar bills?
I don’t have an answer. I don’t have an answer or a strategically laid-out plan: I have tried and all the time, plans have come up woefully short.
If there is one thing that this pandemic has taught me, it is that everything is ever-changing. As well it should be.
Change is the ebb and flow of Nature’s rhythm, and only man-made artifices seek to delay the inevitable from happening.
If there is one thing that this viral pandemic coupled with the ensuing financial meltdown has made clear, certainty and linearity is only an illusion.
I have read it being said that the pandemic and financial volatility is a gigantic clash of two highly complex and dynamic systems, both of which give rise to outcomes that are nearly impossible to predict.
“Analyzing the operations of one complex dynamic system is difficult enough; most analysts can’t do it because they’re using the wrong paradigms.
Analysis becomes far more challenging when multiple complex systems interact with each other and produce feedback loops. That’s where the real so-called Black Swans reside.”
(Jim Rickards)
One such system is already a tough nut to crack, but the convergence of two is a spectacular tsunami…and who can guess what will remain in its wake?
Who can peer through the swirling grey mass, as fortified and impenetrable as a castle wall, and say what they see on the other side?
It is enough for me to breathe deeply and give thanks for the present.
I cherish this day, for who knows if the day that has been since dawn a harbour of tranquility and peace will suddenly have an unwelcome visitor? But that visitor is only unwelcome, to my mind, right at the start.
It’s all in the mind, they say. Don’t be a prisoner of your own mind.
And a prisoner I am, if I try to hold in my tight fists the ever-flowing torrents of the waterfall, identifying with suffering to keep my identity safe.
Why do I willingly suffer and identify with suffering, rather than be free?
Suffering stabs.
But the flux, the flux of the unknown, is scarier.
Will I stay where I am, miserable down to my long-compressed tailbone, or trust the currents to take me where I should be?
P.S. Image Source: Joshua Sortino, Unsplash
P.P.S. Divider Source: @calumam
May we all continue writing, on the Hive! 💕
