An Evening In The Dark Room Room Everyone Refers To As "Life"

Monsoon Midmornings

By M.A. Martin

The Matt and Ivy Show

An Evening in the Dark Room Everyone refers to as “Life”

There was a small light on the nightstand that would not waver. It stood there, sure and steady against the expanse of darkness. I stretch and groan. Hurt is nothing new. This is but an extension of it. They say that a man is made or unmade by his choices. I hope there isn’t an ounce of truth to that, since I may be vying for the top seed in the bad choices and judgment department.

People oftentimes have the tendency to hold on when the carousel stops. They know it has, but acceptance is often more difficult, and denial the easier path to take. I should know, since I have been living with these kinds of pain for my whole life. Thee is a certain courage and clarity needed to go after real happiness, and a lot of us find it convenient to use pain, hurt, or instability and chaos (i.e.lack of order) as a shield. So as not to acknowledge the real challenge – fear. All encompassing fear.

So I changed courses twice today. Altered decisions I had made. The person I am waiting for is still not ready to live. Or to leave. For everything she had wrought in me, she only had lived vicariously through – as I found out with mind numbing certainty. She got left behind, and is tottering in indecision. Am I to remain in the shadows? Yes. I was to go and lay my cards so to speak. To ask point blank/ She felt it and knew. Then shut herself in. It was to be done in all of two minutes. I recoiled; not stung. Wary. Warned. Do I leave? No. Do I wait? Yes. I have been waiting for the better part of the decade anyway. Will she ever come around? I do not know. Are we soulmates? I think we are so God help me.

So back to the light on the nightstand. It seems steady and sure. Look a little closer and see that it flickers. Then it hits you, that Light is fighting with all its might, against the encroaching darkness that always threatens to engulf it. There is uncertainty in that light. There is doubt. There is fear. That the next wave or volley will be strong enough to kill the spark forever. That light hang on in desperate hope, not knowing the strength it draws from hope.

That light needs to know these truths: The strength is from hope. Buried and acknowledged. The wait has long been over. If that light but opens its eyes and looks dead center, there is another one in that dark room. One that heard its silent pleas across the darkness and fought blind to seek that one that sent it; one that understands and patiently waits; for the moment when that light finds the courage to open its eyes..

That light has not been solitary for sometime now. For where there was once one. There are now two.