John Roedel‘s heartful sharing and poem from yesterday took me back to one of the “dark night of the soul” moments in my own life.
It was the mid-nineties. I was in San Francisco, living what I had thought was my “best life”, except that my supposedly wonderful life had started disintegrating around me over the previous year or so.
My marriage had ended and I was increasingly discontented with other areas of my life as well, but hadn’t a clue what to do about it all.
This particular night I must have done my usual routine of getting home late from a gig, having a snack and some wine, then watching something on TV to relax. As often happened, as one show ended I would start another…and another. Until it was the wee hours of the morning with absolutely nothing worth watching, but there I continued to sit — in my frustration and my (divine) discontent.
Which then led to feeling depressed and finally to despair.
What was I doing with my life? Why did I feel so horrible? What was wrong with me? I was trying to grow spiritually, so why was I feeling worse and worse?
Soon I was drowning in sadness and guilt and doubts, feeling unworthy and powerless and helpless. But then I started to hear birds chirping and realized that it was almost dawn.
I no longer remember what prompted me, but somehow I decided to drive up to Twin Peaks and watch the sunrise. Of course, it must have been my inner guidance, because as I reached the top of the hill I found it shrouded in fog, which started to make me that much more depressed!
But then the “aha” moment struck like a flash of lightning! The sun was still there despite the fog. In fact, it was already starting to burn through the fog, allowing the occasional beam of sunlight to peek through.
And I suddenly understood something new (to me) about faith and God. That even when everything seems the darkest and I’m filled with despair, God is still absolutely and entirely present.
Even when I can’t see Him.
This lifted a big weight off my spirit. I didn’t write a poem, and whatever journaling I did is long lost, but it truly was my own “song of sunrise” experience.