Trusting What We Can't Yet See

There are things in life that we can't see, but we learn that they are still there even if our eyes can't take them in. The sun is an easy example. It may be hidden behind a solid expanse of gray clouds, but we know it is still there. And then there are the less obvious ones. Our own light is something we might not see in ourselves at times, trusting that, like the sun, it is still there behind the darkness of a mood, or a dulled energy, or lackluster mental or physical state is not always so easy. We might not be able to access it, but the light still resides inside. The absence of someone -- for whatever reason they may be out of our picture -- the person, though we can't see them, is still there, even if in spirit or memory. But being able to trust in the presence of something we can't see takes some learning. To believe in our paths, our visions, ourselves certainly requires trusting in what we can't yet see. 

Young children don't know it. When a parent is out of sight, they easily fear they are gone. As we grow, we learn that they're not gone, just momentarily hidden from view. For people who have experienced repeated abandonment, this access to trust is harder to gain, but still possible to strengthen. How do we trust that the light is still there when we don't feel it or see it? How do we trust that we are still creative when we currently can't access it? How do we trust that we can feel happy, or light, when the current state is heavy or dark? How can we trust that our body, when we have a cold or flu, will get back to "normal" even if we feel terrible in the moment? What do we need to call upon in ourselves to connect to that which we feel separated? This is a great question to feel into and it may not be immediately clear, but if you stay with it, something is likely to come.

This is what came for me:

Remembering The Middle Way. 
When something that is meaningful to me (my health, a person, inspiration) feels gone, I have most likely gone to an extreme. I think it's never coming back. "This time it's real. I'll never feel the same again." These kinds of thoughts are too far in one direction. There isn't room for possibilities, nuances, multiple meanings. Sometimes just noting that I've gotten away from the Middle Way is all I need to shift a little. I don't even have to figure out how to get back. The recognition that I'm going too far is enough to guide me to center. 

Feeling the absence.
When I get caught in the belief that I have "lost" something/someone because I can't see them, the feeling can be so convincing that nothing can shake it and I sink into the hole of absence. In that place, there is nothing to do but to feel the absence and don't make it worse by adding on judgement of the feeling or situation. "The emptiness of whatever it is feels like this..." It may be heavy, drooping, deadened, resigned, bleh. Whatever words describe the place are the "right" words and the experience in my body is simply that -- the current moment experience that will inevitably change.

Taking in the return.
All things change. Most likely what feels lost will come back in sight and when it does return (and I feel somewhat silly for thinking it was completely gone) I can pause and take in what it feels like to have it back. I can let this feeling, in all its detail, sink further into my consciousness. This is what it's like to remember. This is what it feels like in my body (relief, ease, joy, energy, etc.). When I stop and consciously take something in, it has a more lasting impression and I can recall it more easily. Maybe the next time and the time after that the feeling of trust will get stronger and it won't feel so permanent. In this way, I gradually build that muscle of trust. 

It is inevitable for us, at times, to think we have lost our way, our vision, our purpose, our connection to others, to love. It's a natural part of the suffering of life. And when it returns, we get to experience the joy of connection, of finding what was missing. We can't have one without the other. We must experience them both, but all along the way, we can know that the sun is always there.