Abyss? What abyss?

Published in the Idaho State Journal on Sunday, December 6, 2009


One of my best friends recently had twin boys after more than seven years fighting the infertility dragon. “What a journey,” her husband said over the phone, clearly delirious as he updated me from from the hospital.

A few days before she gave birth, I had a conversation with her about how if this or that thing didn't happen, I was surely going to ram a pen in my eye. In all fairness, she was saying the same thing about what would happen if those babies didn't come out of her soon, comically immobilized by what must have appeared, in those last days, to be a 13 month pregnancy.

I like to talk a lot about the abyss—that dark place along life's journey where we are consumed and engulfed by our ego wounds, to rise again renewed and ready to carry on. So as I prepared myself to swan dive into the abyss because of this thing or that thing, knowing the routine and being OK with that, my fertility queen friend simply said, “there is no abyss.”

She is so much smarter than me.

This level of peaceful thinking, much like a good epidural and other fun labor drugs I suppose, can remove much of the pain associated with trauma. You still still feel it some, that's just part of being human. Contractions are contractions, heartache is heartache. It's normal to feel pain, grief, sorrow, agony. But after a certain point, it's pretty much up to us how much time we spend in the cold and dark.

That's my sticking point sometimes. Feel what's supposed to be felt, but then shake it off and start doing the next thing, eyes forward, fresh and reset. Me, I'm a loiterer. There must be weeping. But I sure would like to improve my recovery time between unexpected turns and disappointments because there is much work to be done, and much joy to experience.

So, sometimes it comes down to that fancy word, metaphor. The abyss is a picture of a place—for everyone it's a different place—maybe down a well, in the blackness of outer space, that represents our feelings of fear, hopelessness, grief, and intense self-doubt. But maybe we can tear down that black curtain, toss it on a corner, and see what's been hiding behind the oblivion. Maybe it's not much, a vacant warehouse, an abandoned town, an open field, and maybe your sack is still empty. But at least it's daylight, and pretty soon something or someone is going to come along to get your compass facing the right direction again.

This tranquil way of being is a discipline. It requires focus, it requires faith, it requires repetition, it requires deep desire and appreciation. Who's got that on tap all the time, especially when it's new? Not many.

So you're going to find yourself in that dark, rainy forest again. That's when it's important to remember you've got unending creativity about where you imagine yourself to be, and then pull out all the tools you need to maintain a better, brighter state of mind. Affirmation lists, support systems, yoga, humor therapy—whatever works.

Nothing needs to be abyss-mal if we don't want it to be that way. Every day brings new opportunity and potential, and the chance to create as much light as we choose. Let us all make good choices in that area. Onward!