Wounded

I have this image in my head of a little spider. It’s brown and small, and not too menacing. Mostly, it’s just trying to go about its business. But it’s not particularly successful at the moment, mainly because it’s hiding – in a small burrow on the ground, or maybe in the side of a hill. It’s been wounded, somehow, and its instinct is to stay unseen for protection. It moves gingerly, peeking its head out from time to time, checking to see if it’s safe to come out for food or gathering. But for the most part it stays concealed inside, sheltered, away from any predators or elements that may further harm it; away from the world outside.

I have to say, I know how it feels.

There have been many offenses on my own battlefield lately that have left several wounds, and I find I’m having a hard time recovering. Physically, my migraines (which, for the most part, are fairly manageable) have decided to go completely off the chart these last several weeks, and have been immensely difficult to control. Personally, there are relationships that are testing the limits of tolerance, for one reason or another. These are not the casual kind, but the bonds of substance that play the biggest part in our lives; the ones which, when they go even slightly off the rails, cause the biggest shift in our axis. Professionally, a wound that was inflicted a while ago that I continue to work on repairing seems to want to tear itself open again at the smallest but most inconvenient intervals; maddening, yet somewhat out of my control.

None of these, on their own, cause the earth to shift. None of them make me stand out from anyone else. We all have our hills to climb every day. Many have much larger demons to fight than I, and more massive gaping wounds than I will ever experience. Rest assured perspective is not lost on me, even when my funny little mind tries to push it out of my viewfinder.

Never the less, we do all have moments when our wounds, from different aspects, collide in our own world simultaneously; times when the wounds run a little deeper than usual. Moments when we find ourselves looking for that burrow in the ground we can retreat to where no one will find us; where we can crouch down and hover while we heal, softly and silently, away from the world and its harsh jagged edges.

It’s interesting during these periods of self-preservation that I find my creativity also hides away. No ideas bubble to the surface, nothing floats around my mind asking to be explored further. I wonder if, in my psyche’s desire to guard itself, it is also burrowing; not wanting to share any thoughts or creations with the larger collective. Not wanting to put itself out there to be seen or heard. Also wanting to keep itself safe; if it doesn’t create and produce, there is no risk of injury, per se.

I suppose it makes sense, in a way; the body does not wound independently. It wounds as a whole, regardless of what part acquires the injury. All areas will suffer, and all areas will gather together to protect and conserve while it heals. It knows how to defend itself; when to burrow, when to hide.

And it also knows how to heal. As well as when to come back out and look again for the light, even if it takes a little time.

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