Dark places

I am staring into a dark place, and its unresisting pull scares me. I know it of old, and I wonder why I have to come back again.

I left it behind, glad to do so, way way back. Yet now, when the days are getting longer, lighter, warmer, inside I shrink, shiver, cower. Why do we have to revisit the dark places?

The most interesting thing, for me, is the fact that I am fully aware of the gap, the step I teeter on but mustn't take, the abyss I dip into one day, look at from the shore the next. I guess that's the part I have already learned, and for it I'm grateful. I am now trying to relearn how to raise my gaze, to reacquaint myself with the stars, with the creatures that wait for me up high. So I call out, awaiting for an echo of inspiration, a breath of help, a hand to hold on to while I steady my legs, while I walk away.

Dark places are not bad: we all have them, because we all need them, so we all can learn from them. It doesn't matter how 'strong' you are, you will have to face some; the more of them you face, ironically, the better off you'll be in the end. And the more flexibly you do so, the quicker they'll let you out - with a gentle pat, maybe a few scars, all dusted down back on the saddle.

At this point, I am mostly asking questions: how much reflection on it is good, bad, harmful? How much can I dwell on it before tumbling down? Who to ask for help, that I won't pull along? What is it, after all, the gem of self-awareness hidden in the dark? I know it's there, I know it's the one tangible thing in the void - I even know there is no real void, but is it really worth the fear, the pain, the tears?

I am staring into a dark place, unshaken in my belief that Life is, always, perfect, wishing beliefs were candles.