The tulips pushed through somehow breaking against the barriers of dried out, brown leaves. They were the first sign to life springing back into the world. My porch, half lit in sunlight, feels like a different place. The stinging cold is dissipating, and there is a warmth shining down on the gray painted floorboards. I am beginning to radiate happiness.
Life is coming back. The time for living and being outside are inevitable. Depression, anxiety, and guilt seem a little further away from the stronghold they usually occupy in the front of my mind. Little rays of light prism around the awareness; a new cycle, a another year, and new chances are upon us.
It’s been almost 10 years since I decided to spring back into my own life. In this moment I wanted to start ripping open the day again, I can almost remember how the excitement felt. The way my fingers feel when they tap fast and hard as they put thoughts into structured words.
I understand the sadness from not being able to write. How I chose to stop putting words onto paper. The times when I entirely shut off the only talent I have. It came back only in moments of great despair. I watched the news in January when thirteen men were trapped in the Sago Mine disaster. I wrote then. I pushed out the thoughts into a journal. It filled 5 pages.
There were other times too. The time a family member passed on. I stayed silent for years until the pain became unleashed into 4 chapters of a novel. These pages are sometimes my only holy refuge consisting of worship and listening.
Those moments are little blessings. They are energy driven, stress-filled moments I can only liken to the feeling of putting a pillow over my face and screaming. I don’t want to the world to hear me, I only want to push out the tension. The same way those tulips reach higher towards God’s great sky. They aren’t heard. They too are striving to reach the sunlight.
Every day we are cycling on our own axis trying to make sense of things that cannot be interpreted. Coming back to places.
In my youth behind a one story house sitting on Bradley Road, there sat a yard. The yard had metal swing set. When my sister and I swung too high the poles to that swing set lifted off the ground. Two little girls flew almost high enough to touch heaven, or so we thought.
Behind the house set the highway to communication. There were rocks and gravel in alleyway leading to other children’s houses. All the children in the neighborhood used this alley to cross major streets and meet up with friends. We didn’t have set playdates in these days, we made our own way into the world.
I remember walking on the those hot gravels barefoot. Each stone pushed through causing a slight imprint on the soles of my feet. I soon learned to scamper off to the side where the grass didn’t cause as much pain as the rocks.
Spring thunderstorms came causing roads to flood and lightning to flash elongated streaks of light in the sky. Even heaven gets angry somedays.
There is no immunity to ignoring life’s decisions and the paths we have taken. There are times we run alleys and other times we will be forced to walk the main corridor into town. Somedays there are angry thunderstorms brewing insides of our heads and there is no place to unleash our torrential downpour.
Then there are days where I see the tulips have risen out of the ground. I smell a new season and the thick gray, depressing winter slowly gives way to more sunlight.
All the while, the earth is moving and we never notice the constant spinning happening around us. In a month or less, trees will have tiny blossoms beckoning forth foliage and canopies. Children will be heard screaming joyous celebrations because an ice-cream truck is heralding sweet treats.
Each new season has a way of giving a different life to these fingertips. These unmanicured hands spring forth their own reincarnations with each new page. The nighttime darkness doesn’t stop them. The years of trying to suppress them only fevered their force. The mornings are awakenings.
And I sit here, only feeling grateful to be typing again.
Fast. Hard. Feverish. Outpouring.