i was weeping in the elevator this morning.
Everything had caught up with me. My son's rain boots were too tight so we had had to go back home before school to change shoes. My daughter hadn't cleaned Cat's litter box and there was the smell of pee in the apartment. It was wet and windy but not cold outside so I was sweltering in my raincoat—I couldn't tell the difference between sweat and raindrops. I went to the pharmacy and the fact that batteries there were four times as expensive as online made me furious. Then the insurance wouldn't cover my prescription. Two checkout machines started talking to me at once, but one slightly before the other, so it was as if two deaf robots were yelling at me to swipe my membership card. I was hungry, even though I had eaten a good breakfast 30 minutes prior. My neck was aching and it started to give me a headache. Then I started feeling dizzy and nauseous.
Clearly, I needed to get myself sorted out.
I walked back to my apartment building as fast as I could. I unlocked the gate, walked across the courtyard and unlocked the lobby door. The elevator was there and as I punched the button for my floor, I started weeping. And I said to myself, "Hello, Darkness, my old friend."
Did you notice that there are three entities here? I (the thinking mind) who spoke, my Self (my soul) who heard me speak, and my old friend, Darkness (my emotions). I (the thinking mind, again) made a choice to welcome Darkness (my emotions) and at that very moment I was connected to my Self (my soul) and I felt relief.
I went into my apartment and sat down with my Self. I wept as I allowed despair to wash through me. I didn't claim it; I didn't keep it. I let it in and I let it out. The hunger (yearning for safety) left me. The anxiety (worry about the future) dissolved. The anger (wishing for the past to be different) ebbed away. I acknowledged that all these feelings were connected to my past (my dad had conditioned me to believe that I couldn't take care of myself) but I did not hold on to them. I let them in and I let them out.
And in a minute, in the place that despair had vacated, hope arrived.
I decided to listen to the song that my Self had put into my head and that I had quoted: the Sound of Silence. Hope soared with David Draiman's voice. (Do you adore this song as much as I do? What's your favorite line?) The intensity of the Hope flittered away gently as the song ended and I was left with a lovely sense of serenity.
And then, I got on with my day. And here I am, still in the moment. If you want some company on your own your journey to serenity, lets chat.