Falling

I flipped frantically through the pages for something to calm me, to pacify me, to hit me with the reality that I thought would be contained in the ink. I started reading, October 7, 2006. Regret. November 15th. Wishing. November 18th. December 1st. Wondering. December 19. Frustration. January 20, 2007. Appreciation. Wonder. Regret. February 11th. Confusion. March 19. Silence. April, silence. May, silence, June, July, August. All silence. There were flickers here and there from after the plane left the ground eastbound, but words then were written remembering, not experiencing.

I then remembered what it used to be; falling to my knees asking for help, praying for diligence and adherence to the goals I had set for myself. I remember the sick feeling of realizing it happened again as we watched Mom roll the car down the hill. I remember wondering if what I was experiencing was flashes of light and music rather than the steady beat that perpetuates our lives.

The pages were punctuated with longing. But as I sat there reading I just kept wondering how much of it all was fabricated, how much of what I thought I felt was wishing for the ideal.

It's different now. Steady. There aren't regretful tears. Instead, as soon as I get to my bedside I fall to my knees in gratitude, holding back the tears of thanks. As I kneel I feel like light is radiating from my core and illuminating my fingertips. I resonate. I resound. I sit quietly and wonder: how can it be true?