December's Reverence.

 

At last, it is the end of a deeply revelatory month. The whole of 2021 can be summarised into the processes navigated in December, which is quite beautiful, for I’ve intended to view it as a month of reverent journeys.

December was a walk in the icy winter mornings, drawn to crimson artistry of the skies. Ah, I could talk about my love for open skies infinitely, and every day is a different canvas on which the light of God shines. It was immensely comforting to see how everything simply carries the light of God as it exists, and we, uniquely among all the other species, have the beautiful power to choose how to carry it. It is foreordained, surely, but we do have that will to consciously pour the Light out of our very hearts.

In December, I went through the process of reflecting and writing. There were brilliant moments of sharing love with people around me, having empowering conversations in the book club and teachers whom I connected to rather miraculously. The most beautiful thing in December is that it showed me that I’m not alone, and there are people who are truly similar to me, who would choose to actually talk to me (??). That was surprising, really.

The fruits of revering my learners were harvested graciously as I saw teachers telling me how some of them improved their characters. I was incredibly grateful to share the steps I’ve taken with the ones around me to see which common ground we stand and harmoniously work together to alleviate our learners’ pains. It’s the first time for me to really enjoy working with others, without pressuring myself with thoughts that I’m not good enough to take space. It happened rather effortlessly and I didn’t have to do much for it to happen.

Despite the beauty in December, I experienced a remorseful contending inner dialogue from a series of books I read about psychological turmoils people of this age go through. It hit me hard. Every single part would make my eyes water, and I had to race to the bathroom to cry after reading about some of the painful experiences people have from unhealthy family dynamics. My inner child was triggered to speak up and recount its pain, and so I was hurt and withdrawn most of the last few days of December. I realised then that it was not going to end, so I shut the books and told myself it is not the healthiest way for me to learn about those sorts of issues. Not when I feel the pain of others so deeply.

Yet, the upside was that I wrote a song. Alas, indulging in darkness does make me come up with dramatic ideas for music and poetry. I wrote it, inspired by a past future version of me, a personage who shines bright with unfailing empathy, sells human visions and paths of personal reinventions when deep inside, all she is is broken and terribly alone. That song, too, shattered my heart and I cried awhile after writing it. I have no idea why my heart reacts to things this way. Since I didn’t want to ripple out my malaise, I withdrew even more viciously.

Finally, I realised I must stop residing in this dark convent and came out to the light of reclaiming my power. I replied to the messages and emails and you know… paid attention to the love out there. Despite sadness being so unbearably beautiful and creative, it is also a path on which I could lose myself and lose my connection to God.

Now, here I am on an armchair this afternoon, recalling how truly golden this year was. My heart sings with intentions for this new beginning, coloured in soft pastel colours— rosy, lilac and periwinkle-blue, just like the colours of today’s infant, dawning sky. I dream of softness and slowness this year to dissolve all the thorny surfaces of my spirit.

I pray to surrender myself to the all-encompassing and intimate compassion of this universe.