A letter to a Friend

It is good you’ll be visiting a place that knows you and remembers you. Where your boot is where you have left it and your clothes know their place. Where even April makes sense, soaking up water against the dryness of July.

April is a month of transition, the war of seasons, fighting for dominance. But it is also a change from bad to good, from good to better. It is a preview of what is to come and lookback to what has been. It is a promise and a lie, both at the same time. It’s a bit like driving, focussing ahead, yet looking back in the mirror.

I understand the words you confess, if not the intensity. You show me a hole, ask me to admire its depth and darkness of it. And I can feel the oppression churn on the bottom and sense the paralysing mire of lethargy, and like a bear, I would like to sleep through all of it. But NO, I would rather throw you a line and invite you up, knowing you are heavy with the darkness and it is an effort just to breathe. The very thing you need, the darkness robs you of.

Don’t be too hard on yourself. Accept the fact that this time of year triggers this reaction in you. It is a trick of your body, not of your will, you are not to blame. Don’t spend all your energy fighting the darkness, instead look for more light, anything to give you comfort and strength.

Take courage from the tree in the yard, in whose shade you have stood and whose boughs you have explored, perhaps have your name carved into its bark. It had withstood many Aprils, many changes, had been fooled into premature budding and been punished by cruel frost for an early hope. It has yet endured.

I know you know this all . . . and more besides. You have been through it and have thought and fought this thing too many time. When I’m caught in it, I hate the incessant inner bickering trying to spur myself into doing what I know I should. Perhaps the trick is to surprise it, just do without thinking, without making plans, without reflecting. Sometimes things gets so busy, I have no time for anything else.

Please don’t think me patronizing. It morning again and I’m still undefended and bleeding reactions.

When confronted with the abyss, look darkness in the face, feel the compelling pull of its gravity, when no more consolations suffices, I remember there is the God I grew up with, and surrender my troubles to him. Let Him carry it.

Take heart. This too shall pass.