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The Magic is That You're Here

 


I don't remember much from the past month.  There are bits and pieces here and there, but the details are fuzzy.  There is one particular morning, however, that stands out in my mind, clear as a high mountain lake.  

It was a Monday morning, 16 days after THAT DAY.  My friend, Corinne, was staying with me.  The day before, Manic was the main guest at the party.  Corinne mentioned a few times how well I seemed to be handling everything and how strong she thought I was.  That is the outward appearance when Manic is in control.  I, however, was not doing well, and I didn't feel strong.  

Monday morning, day 16, Infinite Sadness and Despair oozed into the room and smothered me.  Corinne saw that I was not, in fact, okay.  I woke up crying, and I kept crying.  I told her I was going for a bike ride to try and clear my head.  She thought it was a good idea, so I got dressed, clipped in, and pedaled down the driveway.  The tears never stopped.  

Unlike other rides, Rage was not present, nor was Manic.  It was just me, Infinite Sadness, and Despair.  Deep Fatigue was hanging close as well.  My legs burned, my body felt heavy, my heart felt pulverized.  I pedaled down the road, looking for a sign, for something, for anything, to loosen the boa constrictor that was wrapped around my heart.

"Scott," I murmured to the wind, "show me some magic."

A car passed by on the highway, its headlights illuminating the bugs meeting their untimely demise.  

I pedaled on, made the turn up to the lake, and asked again.  "Show me some magic."

I looked around at the trees, the high mountain peaks glowing softly in pre-dawn, felt the cool air on my face.  The tears continued to flow.  Infinite Sadness and Despair had a firm grip on me, and I couldn't absorb the beauty that was all around.

"Scott," I gasped through my sobs, "please.  Show me some magic."

The magic is that you're here, he whispered to me.

"It doesn't feel like it.  Not without you here with me."

Despair made my chest ache as I turned the corner and coasted down to the lake shore.  Infinite Sadness filled my body with lead, and my head dropped to my chest as I drifted to a stop.  Tears dripped off my chin, and I watched impassively as they splattered softly on the pavement.  

The magic is that you're here, I heard him whisper again.  

It was then that I noticed the pavement had a soft pink tinge.  With effort, I lifted my bowling ball head and looked to the sky.  The clouds were painted every color of sunrise pink, yellow, and blue as the sun slowly crawled upward.


I sniffled, smiled, and wiped my tears.  "Thank you."

I watched the sky for a few moments, then headed back down the hill, back to the highway, back home.  As I pedaled, Infinite Sadness and Despair continued to squeeze my heart, and more tears made their way down my cheeks and onto the pavement.  

When I walked in the door, I shared my story with Corinne, told her about asking to see magic, and Scott's reply.  She hugged me and cried with me.  

The dogs needed their morning walk, so we got ready and headed out the door.  I was still crying when I walked out of the garage, then stopped in my tracks.  "Oh my God," I sobbed.  

"What?  What?" Corinne asked, worried that something was wrong.  

"Look," I said, pointing at the sky.


A rainbow had appeared in the few short minutes since I had returned from my ride.  We both stood motionless, staring at the sky.  The partial rainbow soon became a full one, then a double, as we continued to watch.  Gratitude appeared by my side as more tears slipped down my face.  I felt Gratitude put her arm around me and give me a gentle hug as Infinite Sadness and Despair took a few steps back, if only momentarily.

I nodded.  

The magic is that you're here.
 

Comments

  1. Such an amazing entry.
    The message is clear, believe in your faith in nature to give you the gifts that are needed to bring focus and peace that you need.
    Moments turn into more moments that link your spirit and remind you that your love is eternal.

    ReplyDelete

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