Right now I think I will just stew.
You know, sit in my own shit, swirl in the whirlpool of my thoughts, feel the various pains and discomforts in my flesh and poke at the scars both time and circumstance have imprinted on my mind. I think I’ll just sit there until the stench becomes unbearable. It is in that unbearable weight of being that I find the desire to get off my proverbial ass and do something else.
There is so much value in sitting in my own shit. First, I would have no idea what my shit was if I didn’t spend time in it. I’d just walk along my life’s path smiling at the the world without truly knowing what I was smiling for. I would not be able to appreciate the fragrance of my beloved marigolds if not for the stench I sometimes sit in. I would not value the breath of fresh, clean air had it not been for the stagnant pungency of my own shit. I would not understand the value of the effort I put forth to leave that cesspool behind and to head to places wildflowers grow. I have so much gratitude for the full breaths I can take because I know the pains of holding my breath while sitting in the muck.
Second, I would not understand the wonderful power of my own creative divinity had it not been for those moments when I sit in my own shit. I can create whatever it is I choose. I can sit idle, and create stories of woe and tell tales of a boy lost in the shit of others. Or, I can write my own story, one that rises out of the shit and steps into the fresh air of natural beauty. Either way, I have the power of taking the circumstances presented to me and of choosing which direction I want to go.
Right now, though, I am stewing – sitting in my own mess and observing the process. I can see the light poking through the haze, and I know I am getting tired of the discomfort. That fatigue is where great change for me occurs, where the cowardice of uncertainty is replaced by the courage of self-assurance and where I put myself on the mountain’s ledge just to get a look at the view. Transformation begins the moment fear is turned into courage and the harshness of inaction is replaced by the warrior’s surest intent.
I am, after all, a warrior even in those moments when I am stuck stewing in the piles of my own discontent. I use that time to sharpen my proverbial sword and to understand the nature of my own desires. After all, what good is a warrior who approaches living with a blunted sword and who has not seen the brilliance of his own wise introspection? What good is the shit if not used to make ground fertile just to raise delicious crops of life in the chaotic rows in which they’ve been planted?
I have found no other purpose to those moments when I stew. Those moments are not really me, but they expose me – the real me – as I emerge from the mess. I’ve found my heart there, the essence of what first pulled me from the pile. I’ve found my courage in the slop, the courage that guided me beyond it that very first time. I’ve found the truth as I’ve gazed from the haze and saw the option of light and wonders of flight. I’ve discovered, and continue to discover, things I never would have seen if I was not trying to find a way beyond the shit to walk into the expanse of nature that beckoned me.
And there I go…soon.