A walk in the dark...

"Every one says honesty is a lovely idea, until they have something to to be honest about."

Last night after my 9 o'clock class I ventured out on a walk because there was no resisting the glorious night laid out before me. I walked until I found a little stream at the edge of a wooded thicket and stood there, akimbo at the edge, listening. At first my ears strained to hear anything above the glittering flow of the brook, and then it seemed as my eyes adjusted so did my ears.

Everything was still, a slight breeze blew the clouds above onward with a steady roll. Illuminated by the very distant street lights and field lights of the intramural games beyond the gym, the clouds were an amber/azure glow slipping steady against the navy sky. There were few stars, yet the ones I privileged to view were little glints of hope in the bucket of my despondent frustration.

It would almost be nice to say at this point I've become apathetic...

But I'm not.

Not at all, and I wish NOT to be.

I think it's easy to run around and look busy and avoid and never step out into the truth. To avoid confrontation. To boast honesty and yet truly give only a weak inclination of true partiality to such. To never take a walk outside in the night alone, even when knowing tis the very thing your soul needs. It's unquestionably sad. Yet, I've run back inside many times after only venturing on to my porch.

apathetic...
No.
pathetic...
YES

So I closed my eyes, abandoned my shoes and stood there by the brook with my head back, breathing deep. There is nothing like the smell of nighttime. The day can be stuffy or mixed with all sorts of pungent little scents, like things left too long in the sun. But the night... the night offers a clarity the day cannot. Sound travels further at night, the smell of the earth is cool and sweet, and all around is apt to be a little more calm and quiet.

In the branches a whippoorwill began to sing it's song, the crickets, whom I sincerely love to hear, began theirs, and I realized that I needed to have ventured to this spot just to listen.

My head talks too much, and my ears are out of the habit of listening well.

Je adore birds. So to have been privileged to hear this whippoorwill weaving its song into the sounds of the night, adjusting its pitch... soaring and falling with the flow of the stream... was all a gift to my ears.

I don't boast to ever hear God's voice, but I feel that as I went on this walk with a prayer in my heart, he laid the only true answer I need to know upon it:

"Child, be still and KNOW that I am GOD."

So today, as I listen to my fingers tapping over the keys to write of last night's experience, I am recalling this answer. I've exhausted myself from embarrassing efforts to make things happen in my life, when all along I should have remembered to be still. (granted, I'm not talking about slothfulness, or looking for excuses to wilt from my own chagrin, but rather learning step back when it's not my turn).

I have been praying one particular prayer for many years, and apparently it is not yet time. Apparently I am to continue being still. For how long I've no idea... As long as God stills me I shall remain so, because I, admittedly, cannot do it on my own.

One thing I know: I am not afraid of being honest, and will not let my own wounded pride fold me up into a little box, thrown to the dogs of derision. Because I've been there before...
And I'm not going back.


photo from chemtrails.com