To remember the actual calendar date, you know, the chronological order of things printed out on pretty paper that records the events of our lives? Couldn’t and wouldn’t happen during what we call “The Lost Decade”.
So busy, so intense, (on any given day) that if my husband or I was hungry, we’d maybe pour a bowl of cereal. Typical enough, right? Well, how it worked in our house was that perhaps three days later we would again notice the bowl of cereal on the counter, exactly where we placed it, still full and uneaten. “Hey, I was hungry!” String a few of these days together, you create weeks, weeks create months and the months form years. Crazy. Hectic. Stressful. Ours.
I awoke, one exceptionally beautiful, bright morning, at 7:00 a.m. It was right after hearing the local steel plant whistle signaling the beginning of another workday. I drew in a sharp, deep breath and cried. I finally cried. I cried with the deepest sense of relief a soul can draw from. I took this breath straight from the bottom of the well of feelings we humans been given – straight from the maker of us all. I wept from the joyous realization that we, and by “we” I mean my family of four, turned the corner.
This day was one singular day when a sense of dire panic wasn’t buried in a headache behind the eyes. Tension you say? Like no other on earth. When the muscles between your shoulder blades fuse into one mass, so much tension your neck doesn’t exactly swivel like the young guys on the beach when a beautiful girl walks past. Nope, it’s past useless to pray for a good nights sleep and I stopped praying long before the night that led to this wonderful morning.
The blessed night before this wonderful morning when bittersweet Morpheus drew me down, down, and further down to the core of the place where a new beginning dwelt. A vivid dream starting from the bottom of the earth, under miles of dirt and debris, black with the void.
Early on in this dream, I was moving up, slowly. So very slowly, I was allowed to observe each earthen layer. It was as if I was being projected from the very middle of our earth all mortals call home – but it was different, personal, and not collective recollection.
Each layer represented every insult, expensive procedure, “fantasy of recovery”, damage and destruction inflicted, pain, and perjury that was dealt to our oldest son, we took it on as a family. It was the very essence of these “things” I was being projected through.
With understanding came increased speed – and seemingly in seconds – impossible speed – to suddenly break through the crust and land on the soiled surface we walk upon each and every day. I had arrived at this sight in my minds eye, this glorious sight, the very vision that instantly filled my lungs with the breath to cry in deep and utter relief.
On the surface, what did I see? Indescribable turquoise skies sitting on top of white washed, clay houses. I knew there had been a war in this village. A long battle involving egos, apathy and confusion. Foundations were cracked, walls had holes, rubble filled the streets. There was to be a rebuilding process. I was filled with HOPE – enough hope to begin forming a launchpad for the astronaut we’ve managed to juggle all the years during “The Lost Decade.”
“Within the neuronal valley of our souls dwells hope. Believing in hope is the catalyst for change. And it is true, just like the Beatles song, All You Need is Love.” ~Wendy Frye