Christmas Eve has always seemed a magical night, starting with a shared memory of lying awake listening for hooves on the roof and ceaseless anticipation. Now, at 27, with an ear long since tuned out to rooftop intruders, this night is one of reflection. For me it’s a few moments I’ve been meaning to take for myself since Thanksgiving. A few moments of gratitude; for the cup to flow over a bit. I rented a car to drive home for Thanksgiving. Shortly after getting on the road, a small rainbow appeared right in the middle of the sky, right in the middle of my windshield - and hung out like the north star. The sky melted to a soft pink, reflecting on icy farm fields. I remember spending those hours overcome with gratitude.
Last week, as I finished up my last yoga class in DC, my teacher said something a bit out of the ordinary. It was a fantastic class, one with many moments of the simultaneous joy and serenity that one sometimes achieves in yoga. As we sat in the dark, sweaty and cross-legged, she said “someone once gave me a box of darkness. It took me a long time to recognize that it, too, was a gift.”
I was the recipient this year – one box of darkness addressed to me. At first I was confused. I opened it up and tried to scrub away the deep black contents. I put on rubber gloves and went to work. But as soon as I had a clean spot, the dark seeped back in. Knowing that I couldn’t change it, I instead tried to wear it. I put the dark box on my head and wore it as a hat, insisting it was stylish. But it kept falling down over my eyes, and I felt annoyed that I couldn't see. It was too big and weighed too much, and it made me hunch as I walked. Finally I set it down on the sidewalk and didn’t know what to do. So I tried to climb into it. It took some contortion, but I managed to fit inside. I closed the lid. But as I settled in and tried to get comfortable, I took a good look around. It didn’t take long to see that this wasn’t my place. This box wasn’t my vessel – or at least, it wasn’t going to transport me to anywhere I wanted to go. So I climbed back out, a little thinner for all the effort, my insides bruised up from the folding and twisting and trying. I climbed out and sat down and took a long hard look at the box. It looked no worse for wear, and sat on the table, beckoning me to make use of it in some way – to do something with it.
The box is still sitting there on the table. I look at it every day. Sometimes I do a little circle around it, and then stand over it - hover a toe with the thought of climbing back in. But it keeps shrinking, day-by-day. Knowing that I could never again bend myself to fit inside, instead I put my toe back onto the solid earth and go for a walk. I breathe, and I feel better, little by little. I walk, I breathe and I dream. I dream that I’m waist-deep in warm, salty water, holding the box in front of me, setting it down in the surf. Sending it off, lovingly, as the sea catches on and sweeps it far from my reach. And then I whisper a little prayer. Namaste.
I’m thankful for so many things, little and big. A floppy Henry belly-up on my lap while I finish the last pages of Deep Survival. Re-learning to ride a bike. Spontaneous and uncontrollable laughter with so many incredible friends. The prospect of one day enjoying long weekend mornings in bed. Couch surfers that end up staying and sharing so much. Finally going upside-down. The joy that’s bubbling up as the year closes and the road opens up. Lucy. Uganda. Even the dark box. The feeling of gratitude for all of what I already have experienced, plus what I know I will someday enjoy, is almost too much to bear.
This life is so rich.
There are moments, like driving home for Thanksgiving with the rainbow and pink ice, where I scream to the divine:
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
And there are moments, like the purple clouds rolling back to reveal the glittering black sky, where I close my eyes and whisper it
(thank you thank you thank you).
Merry Christmas.
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1 comments:
I wept uncontrollably when I read this post for it touched a place so deep inside me that the tears I had been suppressing for so long just came flooding out. I have been reading your posts for a few weeks now and when I saw a “Susan” comment on your last post, I felt as if it was a sign and it was beckoning me to finally share. So it took an unknown Susan to give another Susan the courage to reach out and I felt compelled to comment. Why would I feel so compelled, you may ask? For I received the exact same box of darkness from the same bestower just before you. And I was not the first to receive the dark box and it saddens me that I was not the last recipient. And I fear that the box will keep being passed from unsuspecting person to another. As the lovely woman who received the same box just before me wrote to me when I was still confused and searching for answers, “It’s not a bond I’d ever wish another woman to have with me, but it is one nonetheless.” hmb, while we may not know each other, I do know the isolation and loneliness that this box can produce and you are my thoughts.
When I first received the box a little over two years ago, it was addressed to me in a community filled with peace and love and gratitude, a place I felt was my sanctuary. Although the box came to me from out of the blue, I trusted it and accepted it for it had found me in a place I felt safe and secure. And the box was so beautifully wrapped, the paper was so detailed, and fun, and interesting, with all the bells and whistles. I was so excited to have received the box, for everyone around told me how lucky I was to be given this beautiful box. They said the box had a wonderful spirit, a magnetic appeal, with a few rough edges that could most certainly be smoothed away with a little effort. So I went to work at unwrapping the box. But as soon as I got through one layer, there was another layer of carefully and beautifully presented paper, and after that another layer, and another layer. Each layer very carefully put together to create and build excitement. At one point I wondered if the contents of the box ever really intended to be revealed or was I just suppose to be content with a beautiful wrapping job that had clearly taken years to complete, perhaps stopping at one of the carefully constructed artificial layers without ever going further. But it had taken me so long to unwrap the box and I had invested so much effort that I didn’t think I should stop now. But when I finally got to the box, with no more layers to unwrap and beautiful paper to disguise it’s contents, all that was there was darkness. I was perplexed and mystified at how so many people could have thought that this was a box that I ever would have wanted. Perhaps they did not fully unwrap the box and were comfortable just to enjoy the lovely wrapping job, or maybe they were color-blind and couldn’t tell that it was so dark, or as you said, maybe some thought it was stylish. So when I stood there with the unwrapped box and all it’s darkness, I felt completely isolated and alone, for was I the only one that could see? Was I the only one with 20/20 vision or was it my vision that was the problem? So I went to get new glasses just to see if maybe I was the one missing something, but no, it was still dark. So I felt so isolated with this box, feeling as if I was the only person who could see. Finally I slinked away all alone, hiding my head because I felt ashamed. How could I have ever been so wrong?
Happily, as you said, in the end the box of darkness was a gift. It seems we both received the same gift. Great adventures. Perhaps it was the box that opened the door for this fabulous adventure you are about to embark on. Maybe the courage to concur your fears and take the next step. hmb, celebrate this journey for it will give you memories for years to come. My gift from the dark box was also a fabulous adventure, although a different kind of adventure. It’s called motherhood. And today I celebrated it with a party for Jacob’s first birthday. We are the lucky ones, hmb. If I received the dark box again tomorrow, I would still accept it for I wouldn’t trade Jacob Michael for anything in the world. He was worth the bruised insides.
Please don’t be confused about why the box was addressed to you. It’s very simple. It's because you are good and whole and undamaged that it was drawn to you. You are a remarkable woman for not letting the darkness cast a shadow on your light. Rather you were able to temporarily illuminate the dark. The box is very deceptive and plays tricks on the eyes for it may appear at times that there is light coming from it, however, sadly it’s simply a reflection of the light radiating from the remarkable people he surrounds himself with. Perhaps the only permanent light that will ever come from the box is his son. But it seems so fitting to send the box off into the vast sea, for after it has drifted from your reach you will be able to use the salty water to exfoliate any residue the box might have left on you. You will emerge from the ocean rejuvenated with a warm glow glittering from your healthy skin.
As someone once said, “What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now.” Your feathers may have been ruffled but your wings were not clipped. So fly hmb, fly!!!
Susan
P.S. Thank you for having the courage the share, you are truly amazing. And please, please, please have a great adventure. Just remember to touch down every so often to write about your journey. Bon Voyage!!!
“We cannot change our past. We can not change the fact that people act in a certain way. We can not change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude.” - Charles R. Swindoll
"I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it." - Maya Angelou
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