Screaming feels like an option.
I imagine myself running into my backyard, collapsing to my knees and with fists raised in complaint, screaming.
Tears would follow, dripping with the same guttural utterance of my screams. I would tuck my face in my hands and slump forward. My cry to feel alive or at least to revive the life I once had, would have me lower my forehead to the cold damp Earth. Bracing myself with my forearms I would extend my legs and lay prostrate as if to say, “God!” With one unspoken word muttered in my humble posture, I would plead for communion without fear – for the comfort of a family meal indoors, for celebrations with balloons, cake and gifts, and for peace in spite of this mysterious danger lurking in gatherings.
The sound of wind whipping tree branches would echo my own anger.
“God?” I would plea sinking my face deeper into the dirt.
Silence would soften the tension. With my body grounded to the cold damp Earth I would gradually sense an answer – an escape from the restricted reality. The act of letting go would have me turn over, face-to-sky. Touches of mud and grass marking both my face and arms – a sign of my inner discontentment. My eyes, wide open. My mind trailing off. The cloudy daylight sky becomes a playground for my imagination. I’m dazzled. I recall summer afternoons watching birds soar and swirl above grey skies. I see pink and purple hues of sunsets on the water. I become my younger self laying on a hill next to friends calling out images, “I see a bunny!” I saw my life drawn in the clouds and with that playful reminder, I am relieved. I have been taken beyond my restricted reality into the ‘eternal more.’
Screaming is an option…
…but for now I’ll spread a blanket in my yard, stretch out back-to-Earth, look upwards with curiosity and whisper, “God?” and wait.