Category: the unknown

I had a thought this morning as I was going about my Saturday errands: is it possible for someone to live in the light without being familiar with the dark? I don’t have an answer to it yet. I think about those white women “spiritual” types who preach love and light without doing any work to correct or so much acknowledge the brutality within themselves and their bloodlines. When I look at someone and truly see the sun within them, they are typically people who know all too well the horrors of the world. They do not shy away from them, they do not deny them, they do refuse to let them win.

This thought came up again as I lazily scrolled through Instagram, stopping on a post from Safe in Austin Rescue Ranch. They do beautiful things for animals and people alike. I also applaud that the stories they share expose the darker side of the world we live in. So many people ask, “how could someone do this?” Jamie Wallace-Griner, the founder, does not. She’s heard the stories, seen the frailties, and pushes on. She cannot undo what was done, but she can remind them over and over again that safety is now all they will know for the rest of their days.

It was reading one of those stories that pushed me over the edge today. I felt violent. I wanted to make the offending parties suffer. Truly suffer. I had to restrain myself. When I feel this way, I have to ask myself, “what do I really want to do about this?” My rage needs a place, a direction. I refuse to hold it. I can either take this energy and exact vengeance or I can do what Jamie does: offer serenity.

What do we do in the battle of good vs evil? Paint it in shades of grey? Accept that some people are awful and move on? Workshop punishments until we find one that sticks? I don’t know that I’m satisfied with any of that. I could shrug this situation off, I know, it does not impact me directly, but that’s a mistake people like me have made too often. I can choose to involve myself this time.

I take inventory of what I can offer. I send Safe in Austin a monetary donation so they can keep doing what they do best. I write this because one of my gifts is conveying life at its rawest, and maybe it will spur someone to involve themselves too. I scour pages and pages of local volunteer listings, eventually selecting an opportunity to pack and provide birthday boxes for children from underserved families. I accept that what I can offer will never feel like it’s enough to me, but to someone else, it will feel like everything. That’s more than enough of a reason to keep doing it.

I’m not writing any of this out of guilt or to prove to you that I’m a “good person.” I’m a complicated mélange of mistakes, unrepentant sinners, and misplaced optimism who’s trying to do a little better each day just like anyone else. I needed to get the thoughts (ones I know many of you also have) out of my head and somewhere visible. My anger and sadness beg to be altered at a subatomic level; shattered and molded into something contributory. If I chose instead to designate myself the reaper of those who sow harm, what would that make me? However just it would seem in the eyes of the societal jury, it would still be cruel, and I am not confident cruelty ends cruelty. I will leave it for someone (or something) who can more securely wield that scythe.

Whatever role we play, whatever we designate tolerable, we have a choice to make. For some, it’s exacted through the will of higher powers, for others, through a more utilitarian lens. A core value I keep returning to is “leave something nicer than you found it.” If that’s all I’m able to accomplish through my bumbling attempts at breaking cycles, I will try to know peace when I’m done.

Every few months, it seems, the knocking comes. Always quiet at first, growing into thunderous pounding. You’d think I’d know by now that it’s only happening in my dreams, but there’s always just enough doubt to make me wake up and ensure no one is at my door at 4AM.

I’ve often wondered what I would do if someone was. In my mind, there are two reasons they would be there: they need help or they’re trying to make me think they do so I let them in and permit the horrors they had in mind to commence. I think that in either case, my fear of the latter will always keep me from answering the door.

Even in dreams, I’m a realist. I never try to find the source of the knocking. It’s simply a thing that is there, a rattling of pipes, a creaky floorboard, a cupboard that never closes all the way. All I know is it’s somewhere between 2 and 5 in the morning, and whatever is beyond the dreamscape or between the walls isn’t worth the risk.

It happened again last night. The difference this time is that I’m thinking about it. I’m writing about it. What if the knocking is there because someone or something is trying to tell me something? I hope it’s not about my car’s extended warranty, I haven’t had a car in 7 years, and besides, that’s not what I mean.

Today, if I had to venture a guess, I would suppose it’s a guide with something I need to hear. There’s a full moon out. I’m experiencing some clarity when it comes to my calling. (Do note I said some. I still feel utterly clueless.) The world feels fresh with possibility somehow.

I brew some mugwort tea and leave some of the same green herb burning at my bedside. I keep my bedroom clean and comfortable for nights like this, when I’m planning to venture into the unknown. Mugwort is said to help with dream messages. Though I’m not certain I can lucid dream, I’m willing to try. Tonight, I will seek out the thing that is begging to be let in.

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The knocking wasn’t there. Only an endless party I had control over. Dreams are rarely interesting to anyone who isn’t having them, so I will spare the details, apart from one.

I was in a small boat in a large indoor pond. One fish in particular had a tall dorsal fin; others often mistook him for a shark. This fish took a liking to me and let me dress him. I dressed him like a naval admiral from the 1800s.

If I try to make sense of it, I think I’m applying too much rationale to something that isn’t supposed to be rational. I put clothes on a fish, I didn’t turn a misunderstood figure into a leader.

I will try again tonight, I’m not discouraged or deterred. The knocking tends to come at a time in my life when a change is needed. Does that itself mean something? Is there really nothing behind it?

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Last night, I was standing at the door before the first knock. I flung it open, already knowing who was there. It was a new lover, someone who lived across the street from the giant house my dream self occupied.

I don’t know how to feel about this. I went to bed, warm cup of lavender, chamomile, and mugwort tea in hand. I said out loud, “tonight, I will find out what’s knocking.” In a sense, I got my answer, but it’s not exactly satisfying.

I admit I’m troubled by a notification from the Pattern app I got about a week ago. It let me know that now is an ideal time to meet my perfect romantic partner. Now until January 22nd, that is. The 22nd is this Saturday.

That’s far too much pressure to put on something that doesn’t come naturally to me. When people ask why I’m single, I always say I have too much to do. I do mean that, it feels like I have so many other things to do, (meaning, so many other things I’d rather do,) and a relationship would be a distraction.

That’s the thing about being married to power and control though, life will always be teaching me to let go. Whether or not I answer that door, the knocking will be there, stubborn and persistent as I am. The only way to stop it is to do the easiest possible thing: open my eyes.