The way I attempt to soar upward is to admit that I don’t know the way.
I don’t know The Thing that hooks me and drags me down into the murky depths. I don’t know what it is that shifts me from joy and contentment to abject sadness from one day to the next. But, oh, I try to examine what might be the cause of my dissension, and that’s what keeps me busy and that’s what may be the thing that saves my whirlpool life.
I take my trusty flashlight and I venture down into the basement of my soul and I scavenge around for clues until I decide it’s better to turn my face back up to the light where I might find remnants of solace, remnants of the me who has a knack for knowing how to live in joy.
But in the meantime, I am on an archeological dig to discover what it is that unravels me so quickly and what tools I need in my pockets to try to prevent it from happening again even though I know, in the deepest part of my heart, that this pattern might be the process that keeps me moving forward, digging for awareness, digging for gold.
Yours In Introspective Gloop,