Aftermath
It was a strange night. Something had occurred late yesterday afternoon that troubled me very much, insofar as it touched on an aspect of my interior state of being, the existence of which I have scarce suffered to acknowledge, nor to hear acknowledged, for more than a year now.
It troubled me, as I said. Also, I felt ill---I am sorry to admit that I always do feel a little ill, these days---and weary, and inwardly paining. I went down at 10 PM to work, and I tried to work. No luck. I was restless and unhappy. I thought to lie down on the office couch for a little while... and woke with a start hours later to discover that it was past 4 AM. The noise which I thought had awakened me, which my confused dreams had interpreted as a gunshot, was in fact nothing, or at least not that. (Who was being shot by that gun, in my dream, I cannot remember; but I think it may have been myself.)
I went to bed then, feeling stranger than ever, and more troubled than ever, and fell asleep, and rose, and worked again, all without being able to shake off my interior confusion and complexity. I felt that if anybody so much as tried to speak to me, I should turn on that person and out of my own hurt make myself as fiercely hurtful as I know how to be (which is, sadly, a good deal, and is, sadly, the way a perception of my own vulnerability often takes me).
It was in this state of mental and emotional distress that I at last took up my book and went outside, seeking, like the wild thing I often feel myself to be, for the refuge common to wild things everywhere: sweet-smelling grasses and quiet and sunshine, and the quick bright movements of beetles, and the slow trundling of ants, and the thrum-thrum-thrum of life, and the gold-on-green of sunlight in the trees.
I tried to pray, and did my duty by my book, and lay whole minutes together without moving so that I could explore the feeling of sunshine on my face. I emptied my mind of everything except God and the sound of the breezes, and did much better for it. What a strange creature I am, that I should find beetles and a breeze more comforting at such times than human beings.
Perhaps it is because I know that the created world is much larger than I, and that I cannot hurt it, as I can hurt people when in this vulnerable state and feeling like a wounded and caged falcon. I do know that I never find myself so irrationally distrustful, so sure of being attacked by everybody, or so desperate to get away from the voice and touch of my own kind, as when in that state, as if they were all my mortal enemies. At such times I almost think, perhaps I am not entirely human after all.
Anyway, it was got through somehow, and is better now. As to the original source of my trouble, that is not gone away nor is like to, but on the contrary is expected to grow more difficult in the months ahead. However, this present struggle is past and I can bear to be seen, talked to, and touched again.
I suppose we all wonder at times why God made each of us as He did. I know I do, always most especially after a long bout with this particular mood. It rather leads me on to question, not precisely my sanity (I do believe I am sane), but the fierce passions I find raging in myself, and the equally fierce fears. What has ever been done to me, that I should be so mistrustful? Nothing! Nothing, ever. My life has been remarkably sheltered and I have always been most tenderly loved. Yet here is this thing, this belief, this strong impulse to hold everybody off at a distance, which invariably comes over me strongest when I feel myself most in need of help and love.
Well, it is a mystery to me. But since it has been with me for as long as I can remember, and shows no signs at present of diminishing, I suppose I must just go on living with it inside me and trying to oppose it with as much truth as I know, and as much strength as I am given. I will say this: it is much less terrible than it was before I knew Christ. Before Christ, I wanted to die (not to commit suicide, but just to die) while this mood was on me. Now, after Christ, I merely want to get far away somewhere and feel safe.
And shall I ever feel really safe, among human beings? Shall I ever feel as if I really belong to this race made in the image of God, into which I was born and yet from which I feel so often and so profoundly alienated? Shall I ever be able to accept love without question, or express trust without reservation?
God help me, I don't know.
It troubled me, as I said. Also, I felt ill---I am sorry to admit that I always do feel a little ill, these days---and weary, and inwardly paining. I went down at 10 PM to work, and I tried to work. No luck. I was restless and unhappy. I thought to lie down on the office couch for a little while... and woke with a start hours later to discover that it was past 4 AM. The noise which I thought had awakened me, which my confused dreams had interpreted as a gunshot, was in fact nothing, or at least not that. (Who was being shot by that gun, in my dream, I cannot remember; but I think it may have been myself.)
I went to bed then, feeling stranger than ever, and more troubled than ever, and fell asleep, and rose, and worked again, all without being able to shake off my interior confusion and complexity. I felt that if anybody so much as tried to speak to me, I should turn on that person and out of my own hurt make myself as fiercely hurtful as I know how to be (which is, sadly, a good deal, and is, sadly, the way a perception of my own vulnerability often takes me).
It was in this state of mental and emotional distress that I at last took up my book and went outside, seeking, like the wild thing I often feel myself to be, for the refuge common to wild things everywhere: sweet-smelling grasses and quiet and sunshine, and the quick bright movements of beetles, and the slow trundling of ants, and the thrum-thrum-thrum of life, and the gold-on-green of sunlight in the trees.
I tried to pray, and did my duty by my book, and lay whole minutes together without moving so that I could explore the feeling of sunshine on my face. I emptied my mind of everything except God and the sound of the breezes, and did much better for it. What a strange creature I am, that I should find beetles and a breeze more comforting at such times than human beings.
Perhaps it is because I know that the created world is much larger than I, and that I cannot hurt it, as I can hurt people when in this vulnerable state and feeling like a wounded and caged falcon. I do know that I never find myself so irrationally distrustful, so sure of being attacked by everybody, or so desperate to get away from the voice and touch of my own kind, as when in that state, as if they were all my mortal enemies. At such times I almost think, perhaps I am not entirely human after all.
Anyway, it was got through somehow, and is better now. As to the original source of my trouble, that is not gone away nor is like to, but on the contrary is expected to grow more difficult in the months ahead. However, this present struggle is past and I can bear to be seen, talked to, and touched again.
I suppose we all wonder at times why God made each of us as He did. I know I do, always most especially after a long bout with this particular mood. It rather leads me on to question, not precisely my sanity (I do believe I am sane), but the fierce passions I find raging in myself, and the equally fierce fears. What has ever been done to me, that I should be so mistrustful? Nothing! Nothing, ever. My life has been remarkably sheltered and I have always been most tenderly loved. Yet here is this thing, this belief, this strong impulse to hold everybody off at a distance, which invariably comes over me strongest when I feel myself most in need of help and love.
Well, it is a mystery to me. But since it has been with me for as long as I can remember, and shows no signs at present of diminishing, I suppose I must just go on living with it inside me and trying to oppose it with as much truth as I know, and as much strength as I am given. I will say this: it is much less terrible than it was before I knew Christ. Before Christ, I wanted to die (not to commit suicide, but just to die) while this mood was on me. Now, after Christ, I merely want to get far away somewhere and feel safe.
And shall I ever feel really safe, among human beings? Shall I ever feel as if I really belong to this race made in the image of God, into which I was born and yet from which I feel so often and so profoundly alienated? Shall I ever be able to accept love without question, or express trust without reservation?
God help me, I don't know.
posted by Praelucor at 3:08 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home