The Place of Letting Go

There's a dark place I go to in my memory.  It happens every single time I hear the fighting, and the conflict and the ridiculous, self serving righteousness of ego.  It becomes raw, fast, like a hot knife in my skin making my blood boil with it's heat.... and I seethe resentment and smell of turmoil.  I can taste hatred.

I was not the first, and I am certainly not the last in this lonely place;  that place on the floor, in the wreckage of what once was, where hope fails and faith escapes us.  I know it, and I am sorry you are here.  I would tell you I know, but you won't believe me.  I could say I have heard the demons, but I know your voices aren't the same, although the language and syntax haunt me with familiarity.  I can't talk you out of the dark.  Not right now.  You won't hear it.  You can shut me out, and turn off the light.  You can turn off the world and scream of it's cruelties and madness.  You can wait for the nightmares to come.  And they will.

Here is the place, in the absence of myself, my strength and my need to hold on that I let go.  I let go of all of it - love, hope, faith, strength, will, tolerance, patience, breath... I let it all go until I was empty and there was nothing left but darkness.

It wasn't all bad in the letting go.  I let go of tolerance of being destroyed.  I let go of patience for lies and hurt. I let go of love I thought I knew, yet really didn't learn for many, many years later.  I let go of breath just to be able to breathe again.  I let go of my will to fail, and poured it into my will to get up.  I let go in the darkness to let the light in.

Knocked down seven...stood up eight...

I know this dark place you kneel in, begging for mercy.  The betrayal may be different, but the pain is the same.  I know the demons in the dark and I know what they say.  I see you shutting the door, knowing sometimes, the "right thing" isn't the right thing at all.

I want you to know, when you decide to let the light in, I will be there.  Your strength can start with my hands, helping you up - to stand for your second, or third or eighth time.  When you decide to come out of this "mess of yours", when you decide to not do this alone, I will be waiting.  You will not be alone.

I will let the light in when you let me.  I promise.

Love when you can.

Stand up eight.

And don't forget to become breathless.