She had ranted. It hadn't been intentional; it had just kind of happened. It started as trying to figure out plans, but something had switched in her brain and the flood gates opened. And yet, even after talking for an hour without taking a breath, she was not less stressed. She just stopped talking. It had switched off as suddenly as it had come. She sat on the couch, trying desperately to verbalize that one thing that was bothering her. But that issue eluded her masked in situations and frustrations, stereotypes and expectations.
"What's your problem?" Her inner critic taunted her. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill, over analyzing everything. Just relax, enjoy what you have, take each moment as it comes." And so on, and so on.
"But something is wrong!" the analyze retorted. "And I've got to figure it out. And once I've figured it out, I will be able to solve everybody's problems!"
"As if anyone would listen to you," the critic sneered. "Anyway, why bother? Why not let them suffer for the choices they make?"
"I love them," the analyst whimpered. "When they are unhappy, I am unhappy."
"Not much different from your son's fit, 'You aren't doing stuff to make me happy!' Did you just throw a grown-up fit?"
"I'm still sure there is something wrong. I need to figure it out, then figure out how to share it, and with whom."
"Why?"
A frenzied silence descended at the Critic's question. Perhaps it was too analytical, and the Analyst didn't know how to handle it. Perhaps the Analyst was distracted by the disorder in the playroom. Perhaps exhaustion was setting in. In the silence, and new voice spoke, "Be still and know that I am God."
Her mind was walking with that voice, like a bunch of puppies on leashes, rushing down the sidewalk. There were no words, just a jumbled mess of feelings and energy. The Voice laughed, "Be still."
With incredible effort she calmed the competing, tangled voices into a solo toddler constant noise. "Am I still enough, look at me being still. Oh, I'm not being still. Well, now I am. Are we going somewhere? Do you want to show me something? Are we almost there? See how still I am being?"
Again the Voice laughed, "Be still, and know."
She focused on her breathing. Breath in - be still; breath out - and know; Breath in - be still; breath out - and know. She was afraid to stop. She could feel the frenzy building, and sympathized with her child who couldn't sit still during church. Breath in - be still; breath out - and know.
"That I am God." The Voice was deep and rich. It was the same voice that Shasta heard on his trip over the mountain. It had asked him, "Tell me your sorrows?" but to her, it had said "Be still." Would she get a chance to tell her sorrows? When could she talk again? How much longer would she have to wait.
Again the picture of her child squirming in the pew, flipping around, falling down, forgetting to whisper, came to mind. What was she always saying? "We are here to listen to God. Listen for what God is telling you. He is telling you that he loves you just the way you are, but that He wants to help you be more like Him." Her own words came rushing back. And for a moment, all was still.
In that moment, she knew that the words she told her son were true. Like a spark that would set alight the Sacred Flames that showed all people who passed through real, the stillness ceased to be silence, but burst into flames of peace. The thoughts came flooding back, not as puppies or toddlers, or even yoga breathing, but as their true selves. Frustration became passion. Selfishness burnt and became compassion. Frenzy turned into living energy.
There stood the Critic and the Analyst. Were they welcome here? Who would they become if they stepped through the Flames? She knew that the Voice was on the other side of those flames. She saw the others enjoying their reality. But she doubted these two. They were always getting her in trouble. Could they be redeemed? Could they become beautiful? Or would they burn completely?
"Oh Lamb of God, I come. All of me, I come."
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