The Eye of the Storm

Surrendering to the Internal Tempest

Photo by Jess Lee Byrd

Underneath the anxious restlessness in the body, it crescendos into electricity dancing across my skin.

The clouds steal the sun like an eclipse; the color fades, and if I am quiet, I can hear the potential crackling inside and outside myself, violently looking to manifest.

Condensing, and condensing, in the core of my being I feel the energy surging, throbbing in an unbearably explosive maybe, burning in my chest.

The anticipation scorches from the inside out. All desire is clinging to the sweet relief of rain.

Grief hangs in the clouds like friction.

The tension builds and builds before the thunderous crack of lightning that hits, creating the stillness winter is about to bring.

Inside, I can feel that familiar destructive dance coming, dissolving who I think I am into the darkness and quiet of the night, but for now the gray clouds loom in the sky, and the energy builds in restless potential.

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I can feel the tension building inside everyone, but no one even admits to themselves that it is coming.

They fill their lives with banter about Mariah Carrey, and decorate their homes, or criticize those that don’t. Bicker back and forth about the audacity of folks to say Merry Christmas, or Happy Holidays, or neither.

Everyone has turned away from the coming storm in denial, fitting of the most deluded of minds.

A rolling thunder rattles the background of existence subtly.

The absolute awe of the power of this storm reverberates through my entire being.

The hair on my arms begins to stand in static joy, ready for what is yet to come; ready to let the grief destroy me.

Refusing to look away, the source of electricity pulses in me, the chaos building.

I would tremble if it weren’t for the thought, “This time, I am the lightning about to crash.”

Power surging out of control, I desperately want to reach for small comforts. I will not allow myself such.

When the lightning flashes and the thunder rolls out, only the relief of equilibrium will remain, a silence in the rest of the suffering of the world.

The winter awaits the coming storm. And in the eye we shall meet again.