My fingernails are broken and bleeding. Black dirt is packed underneath the nail and my fingertips are raw and throbbing. The toes on my feet are scratched and bruised and broken. The wrinkles of skin in my knees are embedded with black, like it is purging my skin. There is not a muscle in my body that does not hurt; there is not a tear left in my soul. I have fought so long to climb out of that pit beneath the earth that I had nearly forgotten what fresh air tastes like. That pit was so deep that no light could trickle down to me to inspire hope, or show me the easiest path up. The pit was so far down that no sound reached my ears except the heavy, sad sighs of the earth. I sat in that cold, black pit for so long that the darkness ate all feeling from my heart. But, finally… finally my bones began to ache; my muscles craved to stretch and flex and my mind confronted the ugly shadows of dark. The first handful of black dirt, the first foot up against the wall to rise out of the dark sent me sailing back to the floor. Black dirt fell on me, raining in my eyes, nose, and mouth. The dirt tasted like a colorless eternity that struck a fear in my chest and a determination to live. I stood up, brushed myself off and once again grabbed the wall that lead to the unknown.
It took minutes, hours, days, and years to climb that pit. A limited eternity. Muscles I never knew existed now ache with the strain of pulling myself out. My calves are now stone; my arms are long sinews of determination, desperation, and hope. I loathed the sacks of fat clinging to my butt, thighs, and belly that made the climbing so much more difficult. Now, I see them as sacks of trial and testimony; and walk knowing that even they gave me extra strength.
So, here I stand – my body throbbing with exertion and I imagine gently washing each limb, each finger, each toe – those tools I used to once again breathe fresh air. I imagine wiping them dry and tucking them safely into a soft bed for a well-deserved rest. I examine each tool with love and appreciation… and awe.
After so much trial, time, tears… I got out.
So, my cleansing will wait. Now, I will breathe the fresh air that carries birds – that washes over the earth like a baptism. I will breathe the fresh air that smells like innocence. The air is God and I inhale deeply – smelling the salty ocean, tasting the early rain, and feeling the newness of it wash through my veins. I hesitate to exhale, hoping to hold the freshness; hoping to hold God inside me a bit longer. But as I finally exhale, I realize that I am not exhaling freshness, I am exhaling the musty, stale air from the pit from which I came. With each breath, my soul softens, lightens – and colors come alive. Colors swim around me and I do not see them as much as I hear them. The colors sound like listening underwater; pronounced, yet muffled. You can hear the talking, but not the words being said. I hear the color swimming around me, but when I try to pick out a color, they all kaleidoscope into a liquid rainbow. My heart picks at these colors, jumping to catch the ray of yellow or the streak of blue. With each leap, happiness grows.
It is bright now, out of that pit. My eyes are sore and tired from the light but I am unwilling to even blink for the missed chance to catch one more ounce of hope… inspiration.
I walk softly, knowing the earth is uneasy. The crevices, valleys, and deep pits are numerous and around each corner. I walk softly and slowly, treasuring every feeling – even the aches. I know now that the light, the aching, the musical rainbow, the air I breathe, and yes, even the bottomless black pit are blessings. So, I gather them all in my heart and hold them gently.
I got out.
