Like an itch in a cavern fathoms within,
never able to find it let alone scratch it, the anxiety I faced for a short
season never let go. A constant sense of vigilance, a gnawing of the mind, an
aneurysm about to explode but one that never does. Anxiety.
There is an anxiety that interrupts
social dynamics, one that makes relationships awkward. That’s not the kind of
anxiety in view here. What’s in view here is the conscious kind that we carry
about with us; that which we wish we could place in a dumpster.
It’s a loathing, a scourge, a
brutalising of our mind, a dread, a heaviness that makes of living reality
something all too real.
During seasons of change, of
challenge, and of character test, there is a piquing of our conscious
awareness, as if material normally stowed away from conscious thought bubbles
up from the subconscious.
We’re ever conscious of the
adversity, and awakening is the test; for those who can sleep, we would rather
unconsciousness.
Living a reality that’s all too
real is a serious challenge to conscious living. And still it’s a challenge to
seek to overcome. And even if it cannot be overcome, our enquiring into it, to
learn more about its source and amelioration is never a waste of time.
I’ve found that prayer helps.
Taking moments to depart from conscious thinking is not simply relief, it
breeds belief that we can shift mental emphases and feel less dogged. But
departing from conscious thinking — surrendering thought for mental nothingness
— is a discipline. God speaks and helps and heals in those nothing places.
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