Hercule Poirot sat by his fire, on the dark and stormy night, sipping a blackberry tisane. Georges, his faithful manservant, entered, saying quietly, "Sir, Inspector Clouseau is here." "Mon Dieu! Hide Georges! Let him think I am gone on the case impossible!"
I am, of course, not sure what your favorite mind candy is to curl up to, when the days shorten, and the winter sun turns white. Mine is Agatha Christie. Colonel Protheroe, Devon England, or whomoever she picks as the hero or villein, trip manfully through a short novel in no time. I know that no matter who is shot, poisoned, garroted, or killed in the library, no criminal can escape the egg shaped head of Hercule Poirot, with the famous mustaches.
It is a comfort, in this time of turmoil in my life, to reflect on Hercule and "the order" and "the little grey cells" of the brain. My PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) has been triggered twice in as many months, with a disastrous meltdown as the result.
When I was a child, I had the pleasure of going out on a catamaran. It's a sailboat, and its balance is maintained by its crew, sometimes by leaning on one side of the ship or the other, holding onto the rails for dear life. I remember the feel of the deck, the trembling of the ship, that spoke of another shift. It was supremely symmetrical, as things of nature tend to be.
So too, at this time of turmoil, does my mind and personality seek to overcome the effects of an uncontrollable nature, events, time. I cannot control the uncontrollable, nor can I manage the unmanageable. Acceptance is the key, the answer to the dilemma, "What do I do?"
Today, I don't have to live in a life where I "...light my candles in a daze, cause I've found God." (Kurt Cobain) The evidence of the Presence in my life constantly surrounds me. It is simply for me, to open my eyes, and more importantly, my heart, and accept.
Which is always easier said than done.