I wake in the dark, angst ripping like a tidal wave through the void that fills a once-abundant fountain within me.
He’s crying in the night.
He’s in need.
I reach out, winded and tethered.
I lift him in my arms.
The darkness soothes us both.
Subdued, I withdraw to that fetal breath; that in and out; that ebb and flow; that fleeting force that once took over and now takes leave. My selfish, shallow attempt to resurrect a portion of Self only bends to reason and, like an abandoned ship, I drift in stillness.
I satisfy his basic needs.
I nurture.
He grows with each passing moment and my heart swells, tides of tenderness pumping in rhythm with his own heart’s beating.
Wakefulness – I’m wide awake, but yet I find myself bleeding numb to the tremors of this life, this presence. I cling to a hope of finding my way back to a familiar presence, finding my way out of this abyss, finding out how and when and just how much.
Here, now.
I am here now.
I am here.
Staring deep in to the darkness, I begin to catch shimmering glimpses of an authentic joy. He’s quietly nursing in my arms. He’s the breath I created. He’s my here, my now.
There is always love.
There is always hope.
Here in this darkness.
Here in this darkness.
