Attempting to write this on the train before I pass out.

Wish I didn’t feel the need to pass out at all. The colors of the sky right now are golden – or maybe that’s just window tint. My route is running along the Long Trail River coming from Rutland, Vermont and then a straight shot to Penn Station. Not having a Monday morning ride back to catch my flight turned out to be a blessing. The views down are breath-taking. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I know I’ll be back.

There’s a lot I’ve missed because I’ve been too exhausted from pain to stay awake for the good, or the medium, or the mundane. The mundane is worth keeping our eyes open for too. Though in those moments, when it’s not so high or so low, I just want to sleep. The energy it takes to hold all of these emotions, to face all of this darkness is more than I really have right now. Any downtime, to prevent from ruminating on the darkness, I check out. I check out to survive. I go to sleep at 8 or 9pm so I don’t hurt myself anymore. Something about waking up at dawn gives me a better sense of hope. The day is still coming. There’s still a chance to turn things around and make it a great day.

I’m raw. I’m like a snake poking its head out of its new skin and everything hurts right now. The sun is too hot, the water is too cold, the air is too brisk and my eyes are pink. Pink from opening them for the first time and seeing things as the really are. In their purest state, I see who I am. In this moment, I’m trying to keep my promise to myself to write at sunrise. I shot just before the sun crested over the mountains, but just after it crested over the horizon. My timing was off, but beauty was still created. Finding the magic in the moments that aren’t quite indigo and aren’t yet golden. The reflection of the rays on the cabin. The fire that was down to smoke and soft embers. The teepee that once held ashes from other exes letters.

Before I left the cabin, I sat and observed the candle that was still lit from the night before. Its flame was still burning strong. It burned though 60 bodies were moving around it. It burned inside a wooden cabin and the flame remained contained. This fire could have consumed the entire structure it flickered in, but it stayed controlled on its wick. Despite the times it could have been carelessly knocked over by eyes that couldn’t see their own legs, despite the blankets and pillows rustled nearby, despite the flowing robes waving around it, it remained on its wick. This little light had the power to destroy everything around it. It had ample opportunity, but it just shined.

This little light just shined.

There’s comfort in knowing, that not everything that can destroy you, will. I don’t need to be consumed by my thoughts or my emotions. I was blow-torched with lies and betrayal. The burns are fresh. They’re so fresh they feel sticky and wet. New skin is growing and some has all ready grown. My light was consumed by his destruction. But its not out, it’s just a tiny amber. I just need some air, some deep breaths, to bring it to a full flame again. Starting by writing, by meditation. By doing things that I don’t actually want to do but know will help heal me faster than just sleeping through everything waiting for new skin to grow.

I don’t actually like waking up for sunrise and shooting in 40 degree weather. None of this feels good or is fun. But it’s work. It’s working with the faith that one day because of all of this work, I won’t need to suffer anymore. I won’t need to be torchered anymore. One day I will look at this time of deep reflection, of waking up early, of reading the books and talking to my mentors and friends and making this growth a priority, of being alone for a while so I can get to know myself and learn to deal with the inner turmoil that I had been running away from and feel nothing but gratitude.
Hope is on my wick. The more I breathe, and choose to keep breathing, the brighter it will become.

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