So often I forget the quiet that is courage, having been deafened by my own roar.
Every particle of creation sings its own song
of what is and what is not.
Hearing what is can make you wise;
hearing what is not can drive you mad.
(Sufi poet Ghalib)
And so I do drive myself mad, tilting at windmills, believing I am changing the world, although how I could not say.
To stray outside the moment is to engage in such madness, and I do it many times each day. As well, however, I know those moments of being present, of realizing the miracle of life is in its unfolding.
It is more than believing in miracles, although that helps. It is trusting in all that I am and am not. Do I choose fear or courage? Do I want to seize upon a grievance, reveal my self-righteousness, and shout it from the rafters?
Or do I want to take a breath and trust in life itself, in me.
Loving [ourselves] requires a courage unlike any other.
It requires us to believe in and stay loyal to something
no one else can see that keeps
us in the world—our own self-worth.
(Mark Nepo, Book of Awakening).
Every day is an opening night. I take a breath and take the stage. In each moment, I play to applause or catcalls. And with each curtain, I rest.
My next major scene is hip replacement surgery at the beginning of next week so there will be a pause in these posts. I am told the scenes following the surgery will be ones of learning to walk again.
I will have to listen closely, ignore the roar of fear, and settle in to the quiet of courage.