The dawn eventually returns

I’ve always had my own way of doing things. I’ve never wanted to be like anyone else except when I’m wanting to be “normal and usual.” There was a time in my life after I got married where I really tried to be like everyone else. But what followed was a deep depression, felt stuck, lost, experiencing grief... like when you are awakened from a deep sleep frightened from a nightmare, and the first thing you wanna do is to turn on the light, because when the light is turned on, the scary imaginings will disappear and you will be calmed eventually. But when we feel hopeless, faithless, and empty it may seem we cannot even reach for the light, though it is always available to us. So one day, I read an article about spirituality and recovery, the idea of "embracing the darkness" really stuck me, and that is when answers appeared and miracles occurred. From then on, I feel really healing and moving forward. Because every time I find myself in a dark place, I try to sit with it for a while and allow the message it has for me to appear. I can learn about who I am in this lost place. My soul may be stopping me in my tracks for a reason. Listen. I won't try to ignore it,  because it will get louder to get my attention. (It may feel as if I am not moving, however there is greater force under the surface, a force that supports me on my path always).

Marianne Williamson says, "There is a light in all of us.” When we forget this and feel hopeless, we can always reach out to a friend, a letter, a favorite book, a piece of poem, a community... they can hold out hope for until we find our inner light again.

The dawn eventually returns.

It become my habit when I’m feeling out of sorts, “Who are you trying to make happy?” The answer to that question should always be “me”. Always. Yes, there are those times when your kid needs you, a family member, a friend, or a boss, but every day has to have a moment in it where you make U happy.

Right now, my happiness came from this poem ( recommended from a very special soul ) 

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."