7.30am. One of those moments. At the time they seem endless. Of course they are not. Of course they pass. There are other solutions though but in the moment I cry out unable to see or look beyond. It’s not really a scream either. More a wail.
Being present in the moment can be hard when the moment includes what this head throws at me. Yet even there, if I can learn better to see it, there is safety. In breath. In the objects surrounding me. In the familiarity of my senses. In the trustworthiness of numbers. And in that hard to grasp truth that it’s only a moment. It will pass like all moments before passed.
But seeing that truth while the voices and noises battle back and forth is difficult. So I scream again. Or I manage to walk or write or change the moment with a new focus. To be honest, there are many better ways to cope and overcome than screaming in the wilderness.
Sometimes. Such as 7.30 this morning. I can’t see them. Just for a moment. Or many moments. It’s only 7.55. These paragraphs and the words below are written. The noise hasn’t passed. But there is no longer a need to scream. Or wail.
The inescapable thunder tumult of my head,
The way voices shout to be heard,
The way they talk over each other so that
Each word becomes lost in another phrase
And all I hear is the confusion of a dozen egos.
This multiplied inside life becomes pain pressed.
I must defiantly scream with my own voice.
Quietly, so not to upset the neighbours.
A desperate remedy making momentary sense.
It can never bring still waters
Never sound-proof my most inner sanctuary.
The undrowned voices shout louder
And I scream again.