Sonorous Ablutions

The word of the day today from Dictionary.com was Sonorous. (yes I get that emailed to me still, weird I am)

Sonorous: \suh-NOR-uhs; SAH-nuh-rus\, adjective:
1. Giving sound when struck; resonant; as, sonorous metals.
2. Loud-sounding; giving a clear or loud sound; as, a sonorous voice.
3. Yielding sound; characterized by sound; as, the vowels are sonorous.
4. Impressive in sound; high-sounding.

As I was thinking of what is sonorous, my mind drifted to clarity.
Clarity of sound, clarity of mind, clarity of thought, clarity of emotions.

I have that, for the first time in years, I feel clarity like no other time in my life.

My next thought, was, will it stay? Will I continue to feel this almost audible perception of what is right? Or will I allow ambiguity to take control once again?

There are many in my life who fight my clarity of emotion, that sonorous ringing in my heart and soul. I have often wondered, do I have a constant look of perplexity when in comes to emotion? One such that other's feel the right to question what I do, what I feel?

When they do that, I feel as if a shroud is being fitted around me, mist rises in my mind, I have to shake off the distortion of thought their words engender. Some look at me with sadness in their eyes. Is it a sadness for me? Or a sadness they feel because they think I can not see clearly.

What they do not realize is that I am seeing more clearly than I have in years. I always have and always will, take an issue and try to 'see' all sides, view it from all angles, from all perceptions, from all ways of living it. But sometimes that is impossible, I can only view it from what I have lived, experienced.

In the past when I have attempted to examine my life from my own internal perspective, there has been no clarity, it has always been twisted, off kilter, sometimes so internally focused that what I truly felt was incomprehensible. My 'sight' sought too deeply into the depths of my soul, reaching into the farthest corners. Seeking the balance of what life should be. In that seeking, I missed something, I went around it, over it, under it, I missed the center, I missed where clarity resides.


In my seeking to understand this new clarity, my mind shifts to.........


Wounds. So many events were visited upon me as a child that were out of my control.

These childhood traumas punctured my soul creating deep wounds that did not truly heal, scar tissue formed over the entry points, but the holes were still there, the slightest pressure anywhere in the vicinity of a soul-scar, would send tendrils of pain shooting through me. When this occurred, I would feel as if I could not breathe, there was not enough pure, clean air to aid me.

Vertigo would overtake my soul, my mind, my body, each time that happened I would question my reality. At times it seemed as if I looked at myself, my life from a distance. Obscurity ruled me, creating a distance of self-protection, it kept the pain at a bearable level.

As the years have passed, I have healed the wounds inflicted during childhood, those in which I have been able to find the source of, I opened them up to the light of day, drained out the infection, and sent healing tendrils of light into them. There are scars left behind. Necessary scars, that were at times still tender, but as the tissue thickened, the fear of it being reopened lessened until one day the realization came, it is healed. HEALED.

It took me many years to heal the deepest stab wound, But once that occurred, I stepped out into life, relishing, reveling, delighting in my new pain-free world. Thinking I was whole. Life went on, years of life. Oh, I knew. Deep within I knew that there were still impurities residing inside. But I could ignore them, I was viewing my world in childlike wonder, there was a grace to life, I had faith in the future, I had faith in me.

But, I have an introspective nature. Eventually events occurred, and I would feel a tiny ache, an ache that would have to be probed, gently at first, each probing amplifying the pain. So I would stop. Retreat, ignore, try to recapture the joy I had felt. But I was ever drawn back, I couldn't stop that tentative probing, seeking its source, always always knowing the true source, just not accepting it.

I couldn't stop, my soul wouldn't let me. I have witnessed the lives of those who are unable to seek healing, and I have no wish to live that life.

So, I examined, I pressed all around the initial entry point, occasionally brushing over the thin outer scar, but not willing, not having the courage to reopen the wound. Instead I bandaged it, and re-bandaged it, continually applying new layers of gauze over the old, building a buffer zone of protection.

Life moved on. Not quite as joyful, I had developed a limp. I still tried to dance my way through life, but occasionally my steps would falter, the gauze was loosening.

There came into my life someone who opened my heart in a way it never had been before.

I dreamed of possibilities, oh how I dreamed.

But somewhere in those dreams, darkness hid. I could sense the shadow, but I would close my eyes to it. I kept them closed. Living in my dream world.

But reality will not stay hidden for long. It sneaks up on you. Pouncing when you least expect it. Reality struck out at me, in one blaring exploding sonic boom of emotion. I ran, I tried to hide, I twisted, turned, whirled, lied to myself, lied to my soul, lied to my heart. It didn't matter. Reality peeled the gauze away, reality probed, ripped, stabbed, draining my life away, draining my joy away. I tried another bandage, and another, and another, none could cover the pain though.

My soul was screaming.

I would not believe what I found, could not, it was an impossibility.

How could I have spent years and years of my life not feeling so many repeated stabbings?

I didn't believe, a part of me still does not.

I didn't want to believe, because there was no one to blame but myself.

Even though the initial wound was dealt by another. I am the one who kept the wound open, I am the one that allowed it to fester.

The pain came, intensified. Oh, how I tried to pull away from it, but I couldn't, I didn't really want to, it was a foully sweet pain, a pain that gave me a melancholy pleasure, repulsive, yet deserved, one that validated my misery.

Intense pain has power, so much power it sometimes radiates outward, often obscuring its true location, the original injury. Obscurity, clouding our judgment, infecting our souls. But only if we allow it that power.

I am taking its power away, each new day, the power lessens. My wounds are scarring over once again, in that process, there is still pain, and it is a bittersweet pain, but there is a difference it is also a pure pain, the stench of infection is gone.

In my seeking for answers, in my desire to heal, in my desire to live with joy, I have to ask myself.

Do we ever completely heal? Is that even necessary? Perhaps all that is necessary is acknowledgment. In that acknowledgment of the pain, the desperation disappears, healing begins, protective scars form. We live with a new clarity.