I love the beginning of it all and the middle even more. I love where the magic of the story seems palpable and where the newness is like answers to hopes and prayers. The beginning often feels like relief as love swoons in to comfort a wound. The middle is that place of rest and recovery from anything broken and bruised. The beginning and the middle come easy to me.
I fight the end. I jump right to the bargaining of it all. Similar to how I would whine when my parents came home early from a date, because I adored and loved my babysitter so much that I didn’t want her to leave. The bargaining never works. Red hot anger rushes in to try to win the day with “How dare you” statements of the thick pain holding a protective shell around the hurt. Anger never works either.
Exhausted from the wrestling, I eventually find my way to a seat, but nothing feels still. Every bone in my body hurts as if someone took a tuning fork to them. My belly feels light, swirling with birds of emotion and nowhere to escape or land. My breath is short, difficult to follow and even harder to trust. Even as I sit, the limbs of my body won’t stop moving, because how could we sit now when a storm is raging?
It is human nature to run for cover. But, the ending, a true end of any kind is the largest non-negotiable act of nature we will ever experience. It creates space, it creates hope, and it creates life. Above all, it CREATES, which is the gold of why we are here. A death of any kind, an end of any kind will bring us back to our purpose, and our nature.
I love the beginning and the middle even more
But I can’t have either if I aim to stop the rain and it’s pour
To have all of my power and all of this breath
I must be willing to lose it, knowing it returns with every death
For every ounce that I let go, I gain pounds of letting in
And suddenly I am planted in the place where all things begin.