reflection

hello again. it's been a while but i know your scream, and i heard it. i know your fears and i see you sleep and i wonder the same questions you do, but from a safe place. i am proof that we made it, that you will make it, as doubtful as you may be at times. the unknown hangs in your peripheral vision, creeping in from time to time, blotting out the view like wet ink, reminding you that you only see a portion of the picture, that you only know what is available to you, but there is more, beyond. remember when you dive in that if you go down, it's only worth it if you go all the way down and touch bottom, hover for a moment, relax into the darkness, let yourself go. then look up at the reflected light, walking lightly across the surface above you, remember it, crave it, and return to it. one day when you dive down, you may find that you can bring the light with you, and find comfort at the bottom, seeing it more clearly for what it is.
those people that you keep seeing on the black side the road at the edge of your headlights, i know they scare you. if not for their presence, then for their unknown intentions. are they lost? do they want you? will they hurt you? will they keep you? can they see you? why do they follow you? they are your questions, the hardest ones, and they thrive in dark places, behind trees, flickers in the night. you don't have to know everything about them, or be frightened, but you should acknowledge them, because they belong to you and they will stay with you until their answers become more visible.
i watch your body sleep at night, and you look nearly as contorted and misshapen as you do during the day. why do you stretch so far? what are you straining for? there may be things beyond the bed, beyond your dreams, that are of use to you, but you cannot spend your resting time reaching unless you spend wakeful time sleeping soundly. and we both know you do not. our back arches from fear of the next blow; our elbows and knees ache from the blood trapped in their bends; our hands are sore from holding fingers tightly in a ball; our forehead is tense with worry. this is unnecessary. you will solve no more problems in your sleep by being anxious than the number you solve during the day in the same state.
you don't always have to be ready for the next worst thing. i know this is how it's always been, that if you're ready for the pain it may hurt slightly less. that if others see you bracing yourself, perhaps they'll think twice before delivering the blow. but you know the bad thing always comes, without fail. and it hasn't killed us yet. the truth is that the bad is out there, and that it's a waste of life to spend your time preparing for it. or rather, the best way to prepare is to accumulate goodness, to barricade yourself with happiness, to build an arsenal of honesty and compassion. this is the only way to be properly prepared, it will not fail you, and it will be enriching in practice. and, as always, it is not easy.
go to bed tonight without worry. there are things you did not do today that you wish you had; things you did that you wish you hadn't; expectations for tomorrow both dreadful and anticipated; assumptions about next week and worry about next spring, or autumn or lifetime. all of those things are real, present, and waiting for you. they will surely be there tomorrow morning, you need not attend to them tonight. seek peace in your dreams, i'm here for you, i'm watching you, i will not leave you.