Those Softly Vignetted Moments

There are many days, more than I care to admit, I spend clawing at the walls.  I claw the walls looking for answers, for hope to what ails us all. I claw the walls in disbelief, in anger, in worry. I claw the walls fighting, searching for something besides the groundhog day, the endless cycle of lather, rinse, repeat , lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat. I claw until the room is a haze of dust, until the gypsum fills my throat, my lungs, choking me.  I claw until that gypsum, and all the locked answers, all the hope, all the disbelief, anger, worry it contains, enters my bloodstream, courses through me, for better and for worse.

When I finally stop clawing those walls, hands bloodied and raw, the room clears, the dust settles, and amazingly (or not so), my vision clears.  And there are these moments, these softly vignetted moments, of complete joy, complete calm, complete acceptance.  These softly vignetted moments are where  my demons fall away in those dark fringes, and all I can see is the light, experience the moment.  These are the moments my blood clears of the gypsum, veins rid themselves of the muck, and joy is able to flow freely.

These moments are incredibly freeing, wind blowing through my hair, care-free, in love.  These moments seem to occur way too infrequently.  Yet, maybe, just maybe, I need to stop clawing just long enough to see them.