Short & Sweet: Pocket of Air

A phone call brings me back to the reality of life, the one I push into crevices to create a pocket of air for breathing. As long as there remains a pocket of air, all is safe, and I can allow the water to swirl around me unnoticed. I ignore the places that need most attention in order to enjoy the small portion of air I breath just in front of me. The pocket of air will cave, but for now it's comfortable, and searching for a surface will mean sputtering on water and may even mean drowning before I'm pulled lifelessly out of the depths to be awakened.

I can't give details on this phone call, not in written words at least, because I fear. I fear you'll read the words and stab at the only air available to me. I'll be forced to thrash in the undercurrent before finding light and an exit. So I remain in the pocket of air. I close my eyes and visualize simple. Nature. Flowers. Breathing. Slow. Calm. Redemption.

But the phone call stirs me, brings me back to reality, and reminds me to continue searching for the surface. One day I'll share with you, and you may wish to stab at the pocket of air, but I won't be there anymore. I'll be using all my strength to find air and to make sense of direction. Holding my breath, I'll attempt to tell you the story which will be seen differently from above water. Looking into the water, the direction for surfacing makes sense. You know exactly how you'd surface, but it's different when the water is actually surrounding you. One day I'll explain from my perspective, and maybe you'll attempt to understand, and though you may not agree in whole, maybe you'll agree in part, and a sliver of mutual understanding between us will be worth the experience. Offering grace to one another will be key, because every person is different, learning, and holds a unique story. One day I'll explain, and it'll hit home for the few who are or have been in the very same water, and that shared understanding will be life-giving.

Until then, I'll attempt to search for the surface though I'd much rather close my eyes and think of simple, like a child who squats down to smell flowers, oblivious to the hurt of this world. Until then, I must remain in the searching, and that's okay.