I was reading over some of my older words.

My soul was apparently in a very black place. I see so much written about death. And broken souls. And blood. Lots of blood engulfed in waves of rage.

A lot of the writing I do is to get the emotions out. The problem is, once they are out, the fear is that what remains is – empty.

The opposite of hurt is not happy.

The other side of black is not white.

OB experts talk of motivators and de-motivators. For example: pay. Having a big paycheque will ensure that you are not unhappy. But it will not ensure that you ARE happy at work. Get it?

I think the same is true for life. Once one climbs out of the depths of despair – LM Montgomery had SUCH a way with words – one is simply on the ground; not high up on top of a mountain.

And the ground can be barren. Or lush green. Within a pond or within the waves of a stormy sea.

When one is below ground, one learns to navigate using a different set of rules. Sight is meaningless since the darkness does not allow one to see clearly. Touch and smell and FEEL take control.

When one is aboveground, it is imperative to learn to navigate using the same maps and compasses as the world at large. And that is tough. It’s not as though one casts off all the dust and mud one has carried out with them as soon as they can see the sky again. It takes a major scrubbing, and some stains never go away.

What is worse is the knowledge that though one has crawled out, the area where one resides is known for being littered with hidden potholes, shallow and deep. One misstep, and WHOOSH! Back to the bottom of the depths.

So here, right now. I am not above ground. Not by a long way. But it is almost as though I can feel a hint of the fresh air as makes it seem as though the brambles and dirt and roots down to where I reside. And is that light I see? No, no. It is just the stars that are twinkling in the void as I squeeze my eyes shut.

One thing at a time.