Storm clouds gather, on the emotional front. I can feel them, as an amor- phous black mass that shifts and pulsates around me.Sometimes, a little Light shows through the mass...and I find some illumination in those rare flashes.
This Storm that involves family ties, however, has yet to break. I have watched large, seemingly... innocuous looking, puffy, white Clouds change their colour to grey and then to dark, undefined tones. They gather, the Clouds, with strong intent.
And the dark, weighty feeling that is the mass intens- ifies.
This is not the kind of Storm which peters out, which, after great foreboding, melts away into the Sun's light. This Storm will force a great cleansing...but not before a great conflict is endured by everyone who is part of the knotted tangle of cords.
A conflict where I will be challenged to face old beliefs...beliefs that are ingrained in every part of my life. The Storm will require me to cut, irrevocably, ties that no longer serve me well. It will require me, above all, to gather strength from my faith; to use full awareness, authority, clear intent, and impeccability.
Because amongst th
e conflicting emotional clouds that surround me, shape shifting into surreal points of view, I am catching small glimpses of the serenity I might find after the impending Storm.There are sudden moments, when the ear-splitting sounds of Clouds clashing has abated, when the Air feels fresh and full of promise, when the scent of Earth replenished and reborn wafts through, and calm regains its foothold...these are the glimpses that give hope. And which make me realize I must stand and face this particular Storm, without running for cover.
I hear the promise, sent on the Wind, that there is tremendous new energy that will be brought to life, after the Storm breaks and is endured. There will be new freedom from the shedding of old ways of thinking. Shedding old beliefs that I hadn't even recognized as erroneous, they were such a deep part of me, also gives rise to sadness. I will mourn those ways of thinking that arose from wearing rose-coloured glasses...not seeing the fullest reality...only that which I wanted to see.
These are the promises; the Storm has not burst upon us yet.
It feels strange to watch as the arguments, the debates and quarrels escalate, and know, without a doubt, that they are absolutely necessary. It feels odd to explore a new order in my life, one where I dash many childhood beliefs, breaking them into smithereens...
And it hurts. As more and more of the garbage left over from years past find their way to the Light of Day, the more I must endure those shafts of pain in my soul. The baby part of my soul, the one who hasn't grown up yet, the one who so wanted to believe an ideal...that little part is very sore, very tender.
I must be very sure the baby part of me does not gain the upper hand in the upcoming bursting of the volcano of emotional lava that is suffocating my sisters and I, as we go through the tremendous change in all our lives by my mother's declining health. I want the balanced part of me to face this huge Storm that will soon be unleashed.
I have made my preparations. I want to go into the Storm with as many tools as I can gather. I must have clear, balanced thinking, not letting myself sway on the tightrope of life. I want to be very sure of the path ahead for awhile...no more meandering along. I must be sharp.
This Storm of emotion is common, when a parent fails. When old hurts, old sores re-open...and there is a changing order that comes into play, one with a dark underlay. Who to believe? What to remember? Where is the gain or the loss in the parcels we have hidden in the dark, tunneled recesses of our collective minds? And when will the tied bits of string around those parcels...break?
Storm clouds gather, growing ever more ominous. It will be the bursting of the abscess that has grown, hidden, for many years.
Just as a tumultuous, passionate Wind and Rain Storm nourishes the soil and cleanses the dusty detritus off of Mother Earth's surface...so will these emotional drops that fall from the impending Storm nourish a new beginning.
One where we walk without the old, tattered parcels of pain.
