Stillness 7-4: One thing I’ve learned about tunnels is that they don’t last very long. Usually, we can see the light at the other end before we even enter them. A tunnel is not a place to stay, it’s just something to go through. You put on your headlights, and there are lights on the walls inside, and you see the light behind you and the light ahead of you, and it’s not a big deal.
Unless we make it into a big deal. Yes, we can get all tightened up and scared. We can mutter and grumble and grow tense and anxious. Uh-oh, here comes another tunnel—we’re heading into darkness. We can make a big to-do about it.
Or we can swiftly and calmly pass through it and emerge on the other side.
The tunnel is our friend. It is a way to move through the heavy dense mountains of our psyches. We don’t have to climb and climb and always stay in the light—we can choose to take the tunnel. Night is a tunnel. Our unconscious is a tunnel. We can soar through the dark with our ears alert, our eyes adjusted, our hands firm on the steering wheel.
We pass through tunnels, but the road stays the same. At times there may come a darkness, but there is always plenty of light.
Just as sometimes we may feel cloudiness, but there’s always sunshine beyond the clouds.
And sometimes we feel confusion, but there is always clarity beyond the confusion.
And sometimes there’s sadness, but there is always joy.