Thursday, March 4, 2010

My Private Tunnel

It is dark and lonely and the wind is strong. The sunshine is beautiful on the other side, though.  I know it’s warm there.  The sky there will be a beautiful blue with only a few cottony white clouds floating high above me, just enough to make the blue all the bluer.  tunnel

Some tunnels are so dark and so windingly long that they rob you of the sunshine peeking in from the other side.  Not mine.  My tunnel is mostly straight with an easy, gentle curve or two, but none so sharp and tangling as to blind my eyes to the relief that lies ahead of me.

Going into this tunnel, the face of the mountain was rocky, barren, jagged and threatening.  But when I emerge, the peak above me will slope more smoothly.  And it will be green and fertile and filled with signs of spring – rabbits, deer and fat little chipmunks will be busy around me as I squint in the glare.

When at first I feel that familiar warmth on my face again, I will pause in my tracks, my hand at my brow, filtering the stark rays from stinging my dark-weary eyes.  Footsore and lonesome, I will rest for a moment and suck in the calm deeply.  The relief.  The gratitude.  I will let the sounds of life, long muffled beneath this mountain I’ve been working through, fill my ears again.  They will sound brand new and beautiful to me.  Even the rustling of leaves as the wind tangles them against one another will feel like taffeta to my ears.

Across the way, just beyond the shoulder of the road, I will find a soft patch of fresh clover and wildflowers.  There I’ll lie outstretched on my back, napping beneath the blanket of light.  Time will stop as I close my eyes and breathe.  And feel.  And be.

Until that day, I will continue.  I will hold tight to that feeling of peace and warmth and safety as a promise, stoking the fire in my engine.  I will dig deeply and scrape the courage from the tips of my pinkie toes and elbows and wear it around my neck in a locket.  When I feel myself growing tired, I’ll rub the small silver charm between my fingers and will my energy to renew, my fire to refuel, and I will start again.

Until that day, I will press on.



Photo credits: / CC BY-NC 2.0

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