i awake from deep slumber with thoughts of yesterday’s sadness still raw in my heart and mind. the song break it down again comes to me here in the red light of a cold morning. the weight of what it means to be an aging artist invisible after years of work and where-what now to put my energy towards leaves me curled up in a ball. i have no answers. and yet there is something i think in not becoming overwhelmed by giant thoughts. break it down again. the big picture sometimes just gets bigger and bigger until it floods the senses and leaves me paralyzed by the unknown. break it down again. what are the bits and pieces of a satisfied life. what do i act on. no more sleepy dreaming. break it down again. this is more than success, ego, or legacy. i do not seek the spotlight, but i also am tired of toiling in the shadows. what is my forum. is it time for me to dim, or to burn bright with compassion, to fade into love for the other and leave my dying dreams behind. where can i find in me the beauty of decay.
The gift of depression is compassion. I look in the mirror everyday and know that I am broken.
Elegiac tells me that I should stay there, captured by this narcissistic reflection.
Yet to do so is to miss the truth that I see through a glass dimly, that “now I only see in part, then I will see in full.”
And that often my reflection as seen through the lens of depression is not how God sees me.
Knowing that I am broken can incapacitate me.
Or it can serve as the humble catalyst for me to show grace and mercy, compassion and gentleness, and above all, patience, to others.
Tonight, I will serve a meal to women whose lives have been upended in ways that leave me breathless. They are broken like me. Yet they are strong, so strong.
They are always gracious, kind, and encouraging and I always leave feeling like I have received more than I have given.
And for the briefest of moments, I do not feel the weight of Elegiac and Lethargy, my everpresent twins, upon my shoulders.