I have been on an epic journey. I have travelled a countless distance and endured unmeasurable inflictions. This is my story.
It began with a breath
I learned to sit with the breath and discovered great subtleties of silence. In time these places of bliss became distracted by moments of tension. I tugged on the thread.
At the end of the tension was a discomfort, small and ambiguous. It was a place that did not want to be watched, yet in not wanting to watch it I could not watch the breath with tranquility, and so I returned more and more often to its observation. In time this discomfort became a stabbing pain, a compact piercing that rippled with caustic lightening. In time this pain became tenacious and unending. I lay at night to sleep with the pain, and I woke up with the pain. I sat with the pain, and whether I wanted to watch it or not in time it would overwhelm me.
This pain was fear.
There are seconds in the minute, minutes in the hour, hours in the day. Every moment passes on its own, insisting on its own reality.
Day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day after day.
Days become months.
I learned that my life was co-present with the pain. Then one day, as I studied this beast, teaching myself to watch its eyes and jagged teeth without flinching, learning to return to attention with the tendrils of its smoke that beckoned retreat, it departed. I was overwhelmed by a moment of bliss.
And then I was overwhelmed by an ocean of sadness that promised to drown me, and an inferno of hate that promised to punish every innocent soul.
And then that was gone too. It was too much.
I knew the fear would return. But I had seen it flee. I had stood eye to eye, cowering and scared, and it had fled before me. I was the hero who had been pummelled over and over again by a foe, standing up again every time, then I was the hero swinging his sword, leaving a mark on the monster’s face. The audience knows victory is inevitable. I was the only audience, but I was also the hero.
I was free.
And a few weeks later the dragon returned to roost in my chest, as certain of its homestead as before.
Day after day…
I caught glimpses of the sadness and the anger, but each time I was overwhelmed. I was desperate to stay with those sufferings, but there were no short cuts. I had to learn by slow repetition and time.
Then one day the beast fled again. I could cast myself into the waters and the fires. It hurt so much.
At first I was so proud. I had crossed another tribulation. But the weeks to follow were a new challenge for which I had not prepared. Every thought and stimulation cast me into sadness and anger. I was travelling in a storm with no relief. Everything became difficult in a way I had not thought possible after facing the fear. Day after day I woke up depressed, and then angry, and then the dragon would fly by, and then I was sad and angry and afraid until I couldn’t differentiate the colours.
I lost hope but kept walking. I had walked too far to walk back. I was alone in the desert and I wanted to be in my bed.
A couple of weeks later I caught a glimpse of a deeper cavern. I had thought that after the fear fled I could begin to be free. I had thought that after discovering the sadness and anger, and purging myself in their pains that I would find the end. But these did not mark the end.
I had climbed one mountain to discover that it was only the first of a chain, and surpassed the chain only to discover that there was a desert to cross.
Shame. So much shame. So painful, so heavy, so pitiful and lonely.
The battle was so much more terrible than I had imagined. I had scarred the dragon, surely I was the champion? But fear turned to anger, turned to sadness, back to anger, overlapped by shame, armoured by anger, with spears of fear. It is a terrible beast that I could only battle by being afraid, and being sad, and being angry, and being ashamed.
Day after day.
I lost hope, but I was so deep in the catacombs that I was lost and had no choice but to keep wandering.
I have walked an unmeasurable distance and battled a foe that is not a foe but myself.
One night I resolved to stay with the shame. I stayed with the shame over and over again. Until it crushed me and I fled.
And I returned. It cast me with sadness and I drowned, and it consumed me with anger and I hated, and it melted me with fear and I fled.
And I returned. It became too much and I gave up.
And I returned. It became obvious that I was hurting myself and that I had to stop fighting and try again another night.
And I returned and I returned and I returned.
I am still burning from the scars, and each inspiration of fear and shame leaves me flinching inside my heart. I am not yet free. But I might never have been so free.
Day after day.
