My thoughts this evening were derailed. In the bath I was brewing a post about gentleness amidst the bubbles. Then a friend who’d read my blog wrote to tell me what she’d thought of it.
Oddly, that was a bit like getting a comment on my butt. I felt I had to crane around to see what she was seeing before I could accept the compliment! And so I read back.
I haven’t done that before, though for no particular reason. It took me by surprise how the words flowed into me, swelled up in my chest and pushed tears up to my eyes. Reading again was feeling again. I remember writing those first posts: how it felt to be there, in that now, raw and rough. It was like climbing downwards into a cave and seeing the light recede and narrow.
But, and this is a crucial but (just in case that same friend is reading and feeling guilty!), that backwards journey has made me realise how I have moved. Some days I stumble or dither, others I slide back or spring forward, but I am moving. That recognition is in itself a profound relief. When the light slides slowly you barely know whether it is rising or falling – shades of grey are hard to chart!
It may well be that there are times when I am pulled back down even lower or when new rocks block my path and stump me. This is not a journey I can chart and the road ahead is unknown to me. But it is good to know that I can come here to find a reminder, that this too shall pass.