Dark to Light
"Joy and sorrow are inseparable...together they come and when one sits alone with you, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed."
I suppose there is something to be said for the inner margin of emotion. Where nothing really effects you in either direction. It is this safe ground, however thin, that some would prefer to linger at times where everything is neutral. If I am in a neutral state of "not unhappy" then I risk less. There is less chance of a catastrophic fall. It's the equivalent of falling from a footstool rather than a ladder. But yet, there is no growth, there is no reach, and there is no view. This safe ground of mediocrity is fine, to a point. None of us really want to experience the pendulum swings of highs and lows. We want the highs, but the swing itself, from dark to light and back, is difficult to endure. We don't want heartache to find us in any form. But it will. It will seek us out and claw its way up our back demanding to be seen and heard and felt. It will never be easy. But just like Newton's Third Law, there is equivalent joy that meets us on the other side. We cannot understand the highest joys without understanding the sorrows. Because one must differentiate the other. If we had a lifetime of no sorrow, joy would not be much to experience. It would be an everyday, mundane feeling full of expectations. Joy is nothing without sorrow. And sorrow, nothing without joy.
However, I wonder how many people get so used to the extremity of the pendulum swing that it becomes the norm. And that all else even near the margin of neutrality feels like neutral itself. It feels like stagnant air. It feels like we are not moving. And so we create something. We create something to mimic real emotion. We stir up fights, we create unrest. We use drugs and highs to capture some type of euphoria, however false. We create a false sense of sorrow and heartache. We create extremes. Because somehow our systems have become trained to bounce frantically from one to another. We equate it with living. And feeling those extremities lets us know that somehow on the inside we are still alive, or at least we are reminded that we are not dead.
But maybe it's more complex than that. Maybe everyone's inner margin of neutrality is different. Maybe yours has a wide berth where flowers may not grow, but neither do weeds. Maybe yours is comfortable and quiet. There are no cries, but there is no laughter either. It's not dying. But it's not really living. Maybe stepping off this place is exciting in all its forms and doing so creates a pain that feels real. Or perhaps it creates a pleasure you cannot give up. Where the dark side is completely dark. And the light is only light. One extreme and another. All in. Or all out.
Or maybe your margin is a small, narrow strip of land. A place you can easily step from dark to light. Where you can see one side from the other. The flowers bloom in fields so thick you cannot walk through. And the view is incredible. Maybe you know it is a fluid place to exist, constantly changing. Where the beginning of the darkness is still mingled with plenty of light to see by. Like the light a full moon gives off so you can easily find your way home. And the light has shadows that create depth and emotion and the creation of colors not otherwise seen. One is not entirely without the other. You feel both emotions, constantly, like a slow dance where one blends quietly into the next.
However your isle of neutral is built, I hope you see light. However much light exists in your life, I hope you remain a signal house of hope for those who are lost on the other side.
And regardless of how much darkness you are shrouded in, I hope you know that darkness is temporary if you're willing to open your eyes.
I suppose there is something to be said for the inner margin of emotion. Where nothing really effects you in either direction. It is this safe ground, however thin, that some would prefer to linger at times where everything is neutral. If I am in a neutral state of "not unhappy" then I risk less. There is less chance of a catastrophic fall. It's the equivalent of falling from a footstool rather than a ladder. But yet, there is no growth, there is no reach, and there is no view. This safe ground of mediocrity is fine, to a point. None of us really want to experience the pendulum swings of highs and lows. We want the highs, but the swing itself, from dark to light and back, is difficult to endure. We don't want heartache to find us in any form. But it will. It will seek us out and claw its way up our back demanding to be seen and heard and felt. It will never be easy. But just like Newton's Third Law, there is equivalent joy that meets us on the other side. We cannot understand the highest joys without understanding the sorrows. Because one must differentiate the other. If we had a lifetime of no sorrow, joy would not be much to experience. It would be an everyday, mundane feeling full of expectations. Joy is nothing without sorrow. And sorrow, nothing without joy.
However, I wonder how many people get so used to the extremity of the pendulum swing that it becomes the norm. And that all else even near the margin of neutrality feels like neutral itself. It feels like stagnant air. It feels like we are not moving. And so we create something. We create something to mimic real emotion. We stir up fights, we create unrest. We use drugs and highs to capture some type of euphoria, however false. We create a false sense of sorrow and heartache. We create extremes. Because somehow our systems have become trained to bounce frantically from one to another. We equate it with living. And feeling those extremities lets us know that somehow on the inside we are still alive, or at least we are reminded that we are not dead.
But maybe it's more complex than that. Maybe everyone's inner margin of neutrality is different. Maybe yours has a wide berth where flowers may not grow, but neither do weeds. Maybe yours is comfortable and quiet. There are no cries, but there is no laughter either. It's not dying. But it's not really living. Maybe stepping off this place is exciting in all its forms and doing so creates a pain that feels real. Or perhaps it creates a pleasure you cannot give up. Where the dark side is completely dark. And the light is only light. One extreme and another. All in. Or all out.
Or maybe your margin is a small, narrow strip of land. A place you can easily step from dark to light. Where you can see one side from the other. The flowers bloom in fields so thick you cannot walk through. And the view is incredible. Maybe you know it is a fluid place to exist, constantly changing. Where the beginning of the darkness is still mingled with plenty of light to see by. Like the light a full moon gives off so you can easily find your way home. And the light has shadows that create depth and emotion and the creation of colors not otherwise seen. One is not entirely without the other. You feel both emotions, constantly, like a slow dance where one blends quietly into the next.
However your isle of neutral is built, I hope you see light. However much light exists in your life, I hope you remain a signal house of hope for those who are lost on the other side.
And regardless of how much darkness you are shrouded in, I hope you know that darkness is temporary if you're willing to open your eyes.
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