I have not been writing for a few days. It has been as if hell unleashed itself on earth for me. I did not know that such suffering was possible, though I have suffered much in my life. For the last few days I have been prostrate on my bed. Sometimes pain does not have a voice. It cannot speak. It is silent. It just has to be endured. And how, I do not know. I only know that I am still here. Weaker, dizzy, reeling, fragile, vulnerable, but still here.
I try to plumb the depths of the Universe to understand – but I don’t. Who can? Can anybody? Sometimes I think I understand, and can find peace. But soon, I find that I did not understand at all. And once again, I am spinning in some horrible vortex. Lost. Thoughts all jangling, until the screaming comes. They say that even the stones can cry out. Am I a stone? Where are the stones? Are they crying? I do not know. I cannot see. I cannot hear. All that I know is the onslaught of something that I cannot even describe. Where are the stones?
Enduring is all that you can do. We, us, me. Who? I don’t know. Who am I anyway. They say my name is Lorraine. But who do I say that I am?
They say I am Beloved of God. They do, you know.
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Lorraine, is it? What’s in a name, yeah? The conversations with the self are the ones with the universe. It exists within us after all, doesn’t it? The questions you have posed, I used to myself doing the same, but for a while I haven’t had such conversations, maybe I’m too drained.
P.S. I wish you a blessed healing from your pain, literal or figurative.
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Thanks Nandita. The questions come, then go again, then come again. As long. as we are alive. Or we are dead! The suffering can be both physical and figurative all at the same time. Whatever. But there is always hope in our darknesses. X
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