Have you ever felt like your life was in limbo? Like completely at a standstill? As if the slightest breeze could send you tumbling over the edge of the cliff you seem to be standing on top of?
Part of you wonders what on earth you are doing up here, anyways. You strain your neck trying to look over your shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of where you used to be. The safe, solid ground just has to be back there somewhere...but where? Why has all this dust and wind and murk replaced what you used to be able to see so clearly? Sometimes the crick in your neck is worth the possibility of seeing that place again. Maybe you can feel normal again if you just see it. Or maybe if you just get the heck down from this cliff you can go back and none of this would really be happening.
Every now and then some bird flies by with a message from that far away place on firm ground. You hear whispers of things going on that keep you updated, but you can't ever get down and join in on what is happening, so you grasp at any news you hear from the haze. You feel guilty for not being there, sad that life has to go on without you, grateful for all the friendships and life-walkers you had there, and unsure of what you are supposed to do now. If I scream down there, will they hear it? Could I send a message back down with the birds, and hope they know how much I love and miss them from only words? Is it just easier to be quiet? Maybe...
When you turn your head back to facing the front again, the problem has yet to resolve itself. There is still this issue of standing at the edge of the cliff, and you just know that the winds are about to pick up. What will you do? What is there to hold on to? Who will catch us if we fall off?
Yeah, I said 'we.' There are 3 little people up here with me, which makes everything all the more urgent. They stare at me with big eyes or yell at me with big mouths, because they are so scared of the edge and just want to go back down to the solid ground they remember. Oftentimes they completely change and want to just get a running start and fly off the cliff, not caring about the consequences, in pure unabashed, childlike freedom.
Our faith in what is over the edge fluctuates all the time. How can you be so impatiently patient and so untrustingly trusting? We are both somehow.
So you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Wait for an answer, or a strong breeze, or a huge gust, or a floating cloud to tell you what to do.
Sometimes you think it would be easier to be pushed off by hurricane force winds. At least you would know for sure there were no other options.
Sometimes you want some gear to fall from the sky so you can repel back down to where you came from, shaking the dust off your feet and muttering a sigh of relief that whatever that detour was is finally over at the bottom.
Yet sometimes, you just decide you can surely live up here forever, somewhere in between an old life and a new life, because there is almost enough room for everyone. We can make it work. We can live with this. We can be ok here.
But what about that cliff? There is an edge, you know.
So maybe we are just supposed to close our eyes, count to three,
one...
two...
three...
and find ourselves safe, wherever we land.
