Once again, where do we find ourselves. When we are not just existing, but soaking up any and every experiential truth that’s offered to us. That is where we are. Then. It’s obvious. Right then, it’s concrete. With a strong foothold in all the beauty and laughter. Connection and influence. Love and curiosity. Taking what’s in front of us, to hold and keep.
But, those other times. Most of the time. When we’re falling back down. And sinking. Existing that other way. Begging, and reaching forward. Pulling back. All with no takeaways. Hollering out for, and scrambling between doorways for incentives to feel something. Something quick even. Small. That would do. And it is just as real as the eventual recognition that it is not. That something.
This is the breach and these are the hollows where you hear your voice fade out. And end. Until you can cry again. Until it’s in you again. Until you’re ready to reach at a chance to come back emptyhanded again. Until you have time. It all goes on hold. You put it in the, now very narrow, space behind you. And let it sit.
Life is going on, though. There, in front of you. How about that. Seems slow enough, but still, it’s constant. Reliable and predictable. Moving at a pace you used to understand. You’re usually on that ride. Not a Watcher. Not just someone waiting. Not someone too afraid for it. Surely, you’ve been tall enough for years. So what happened…
…Then the dust starts to settle down around your feet. You watch it, and then you remember. This has happened before.
This is where you wait. Before you head back again to those hollows, this is where you wait. Before you can ever get back on that ride. One day. This is just where you wait while you cry. Until that narrow space behind you widens, pushing you forward in line. This is where you wait.