It's raining solidly even though the weather apps say it shouldn't be at 4.47am. I have to be up at 6am. Is it worth going back to sleep? Oh the scourge of not sleeping. The agony and the ecstasy.
One thing I know: what we are on the inside bears no relation to how we look on the outside. The man who lies next to me, tall, elegant, fine-boned, who walks purposefully, his chin up, is a sweet, playful child on the inside, slightly unsure, loving as a puppy. And maybe no-one knows it. Even when he is sleeping he says to me "I love you" if I touch his arm. (The dog who is the other side of the sandwich says it too, I am sure of it, but in grunts and snarfs.) I wonder if that is all we need to survive? That unfailing, unflinching love to protect us from the rain, from our own quiet self loathing, our own lack of faith? Where does the faith go on these sleepless nights?
And then this magic happens. You were one. And how you are half of two. And despite all the things you don't like, all the traits you want to fix, your focusing on the wrong things, your short temper, there is love for you. Unequivocal. (His word, not mine, my darling, another of his.)
That soft breath juxtaposed with the rain. The owls. The dog in the crook of your knee. The ameliorating of the constant angst. It melts away.
My friend who has just been given a bipolar diagnosis has been put on a new drug. I don't remember its name; an anti-psychotic. She said "I was swimming in the ocean in rough seas with huge waves and now I am on a desert island." Imagine that. Oh, so this is how life is meant to be? You mean, the anxiety isn't normal? You mean, people don't usually worry over everything tiny thing? You mean, there is love for you even if you are terribly, terribly flawed? You mean imperfect is the new perfect? Ha ha.
Bathe in light. Love the soft rain. Remember the warmth and the fine silk threads that bind us all to everything else. This is not an accident.