big chicken

So, the fear thing, it’s better than it was, for sure. I rarely wake up from nightmares about something happening to him anymore, so that’s definitely progress.

But still…

I will be so exhausted and ready to sleep, but when the lights are out and my head gets settled into the pillow, I see this horrible slideshow of What If’s that makes my heart pound and adrenalin surge.

He yanks his hand from mine and dashes into city traffic..

He lurches from my arms as I carry him past a second floor bannister…

I’m driving with him and an out of control semi is headed my way on a twisty highway…

My eyes fly open.

This is stupid. Everyone is safe in bed.

I turn up the monitor to hear him breathing. He sighs. He’s fine.

There is no crisis here. Go to sleep.

The images flicker on. The Fear says But! But! But!, showing me all these awful things that it wants me to believe are inevitable, and I can almost smile, almost, because the Fear sounds for all the world like a mindless chicken chasing after me going Bock! Bock! Bock! with beady, dumb little chicken eyes.

I try to meditate then, although it usually ends up being more of a visual prayer, because it’s really hard to calm myself enough at that point to slip into the meditative state.

I visualize my woods now, with winter bare branches that are delicate and black against the blue sky. The ground is clean of debris and carpeted in thick, springy apple-green moss. The air is bracingly cool, but the moss is warm because it’s growing up from the living Earth. It feels perfect. I walk barefoot through the trees, relishing that living carpet under me, and reach my spring. It bubbles up, pristine and sparkling, from between clean, smooth, frost-tinged rocks. The water forms a shallow pool and then trickles away down a brookbed lined with grapefruit-sized rocks. I sit on the mossy bank and an angel comes to sit beside me. She smiles. “Take it,” I say. “Please.” I give her my bucket filled with fear, gloppy and viscous like an Uruk-hai’s breakfast. She nods, not grossed out at all, and takes the brimming bucket of filth from me, leaving me to rest on the mossy cushion by the spring.

And it helps, although I still usually have to just read or play iPhone Scrabble until my eyes get tired enough to ignore that damn chicken’s slideshow.

I think next time I will try drop-kicking that clucker off the horizon. I’ll get some satisfaction from hearing it squawk and seeing the feathers pouff with impact, even if it does come back to peck at me.

Stupid fear.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Meghan Casey Cobble
    Jul 27, 2011 @ 16:28:50

    So, the fear thing haunts us all.

    I am horrible with driving over bridges in a car with the boys.

    I panic that I won’t be able to get the windows down should there be a crash over the edge.

    I think the Devil is a wicked mastermind and insecurity’s biggest CEO if you ask me.

    I am reminding myself daily that life is walk, a run, a sprint, a leisurely jog, and even collapses of pure out exhaustion at times.

    I find my center is much stronger when I focus on my heartbeat and pulse no matter the pace.

    And, it always helps to kick chickens too!

    Great analogy!

    .mac 🙂

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