the gifts of numbness.

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Every once in a while, I lapse into a bubble of numbness. It's not exactly numbness, but an indifferent equanimity, a restful episode of non-doing that is a little dull and guilty.


When those kinds of episodes air in my soul, I usually feel quite uneasy. It’s not the natural state of my mind to be so passive and uninspired. Also, it is at those times when my doings are quite invisible both in magnitude and intensity. I don’t feel the vibrancy of my days, and it feels like I’m losing my spark.


It reminds me of the days I had an awful relationship with myself. Those occasional times of numbness would cause me great distress for I’d judge myself so bad for not glowing brightly. I’d be anxious, measuring the impact of work and finding nothing worthy to measure.


What is to be measured in a day that is restful, I wonder? Perhaps it is the silent gratitude of being gifted a day, breathing in and becoming so wholly nourished without having to do anything worthwhile at all.


No matter how hard this numbness gets, I always remember that it is a gift. It is a gift to change how I perceive worthiness in general, to embrace seasons of being. To love the silence and shed the old, being completely bare, vulnerable and naked in honest patience and receivership.


I know that I must learn to love myself even when I’m silent and completely unworthy of all goodness. I shed and release how I used to treat myself before— with so much harshness and disgrace. Here is a new season that allows me to shed it, and start anew with more gentleness and gratitude for merely being gifted continuously, even when I’m unaware of it.


I dream of a day I write something here about a silent season and describe its beauty even more vividly.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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