The storm came after the sweetness of the January thaw. When we had all smiled and raised a glass
together, the storm crept in, waiting for its chance. In the dark of the night, He came riding in
on a horse still darker, with all the fury of the Underworld at His command. With hands as hard as steel and eyes as cold
as ice, He laid the countryside to waste.
He destroyed everything in His path.
It is not unlike the storms that steal into our minds,
those we endure silently, those we think no one else knows anything about. For who would admit to it? Who would admit that as they sit in a silent
and darkened room, the storm creeps upon them?
Though you try to protect your mind and your heart, though you try to
pull a shawl closer about you for warmth, He creeps inside. Then the dark cloud descends upon you, and
all semblance of happiness and decency and love seem to leave you. The storm takes hold. The gut-wrenching sorrow. The darkness that comes upon us all from time
to time. And he whispers, “You are
nothing….you are nothing…..I am your destroyer….I consume you….”
And you run from the room screaming with your hands
tightly covering your ears. No more! I will not listen! Please, God, no more….take this storm….make it
go away…. Somehow you find yourself on
your knees, and how long have you been there?
How long have you knelt in abject disgrace? It’s hard to tell. But this is the storm. This is what it does. This is the February of our lives, and no one
escapes it. No one. Do not purport to tell me that you have
slipped through the cracks. You have
not.
Then the morning finally comes, as it somehow always
does. It always does. The sun shines
brilliantly upon the field. I look
fearfully outdoors, wondering if I am really still alive. And lo!
I am met with stunning brilliance!
The world is covered in ice that shimmers like a million diamonds! Every tree, every bush, every rock is covered
in ice that shines like the sun itself. How
can this be? I ask myself, how can
beauty ever exist again after such darkness?
How is it possible? I reach out
and He places an icy diamond on my finger.
I am the Bride of the Underworld.
Yet I cannot help but feel betrayed. I ask the storm, why did you push me to the
limit and beyond? Why did you destroy my
world? Why did you annihilate all
semblance of goodness and calmness and decency?
Why? Why do it? What is the purpose? What are you gaining? And he responds, “Foolish girl. There is nothing under this sun—nothing!—that
does not exist without express permission.
There is nothing that is apart from the whole. There is nothing outside of me. I am the razor-sharp ice that cuts like a
sword. I am the brilliant sunshine. I am the murderous darkness. I am everywhere. I am everything.”
