The writing class this morning is about describing a single emotion.
It is snow white and she has been left in the forest and only when she walks through does she reach a place of relative safety and even then the walking through does not end even though she has a temporary safe haven.
In the morning we walk through the jungle of emotions and our teacher guides us how to negotiate the thorny areas where we may not only be stuck but may tear our flesh if we do not follow the rules of engagement.
The sensation is unique, skirting the hairpin bends of the mountainous region of a single emotion, lying down in a field of daisies and inhaling the sweet fragrance of another one, voluntarily lowering oneself into the well of darkness to bring forth, accept and describe the dark emotion. It is all about the external and internal garb that an emotion wears, how it appears at our door and how we engage with it or fear it.
The room is full of writers and each wrestles with the naming, and describing of the emotion and yet even though many of us may have emotions in common, the manifestations are unique for each individual.
Both you and I may experience grief but how I see it may ring true to you or it may not. It may hold edges of unknown razor sharp surprises that no one knows, feels or sees.
Walking through the morning of the written description of an emotion is like swimming against the tide, knowing that you must get to the other side otherwise you will drown, and yet on reaching the other side though there is relief. an enlarging vision of what you have seen and experienced while struggling against the tide is sobering, exhausting and freeing. The tide of emotion as you swim through it promises to slap you back and forth and may even pull you into its depths.
Allah Subhanawataala says in His instructions: If you follow my path you shall have no grief and no fear.
I see now how all paths are ridden with cactuses, tsunamis and the strong undercurrent of grief, anger or love and if one does not have ones eye on the goal.
Without the knowledge of the map He Subhanawataala has provided the weak like me will perish and the process prior and during it will be painful.
The room is the same, the participants are the same, yet as I look out at the butterfly bush waving to me from the garden the huge tree with the orange trunk branching out tall and straight seeming to be reaching for the stars, I feel reassured that this too shall pass even if I have to go through it …………..