The Dawn Beyond the Darkness

 There are mornings when the world feels unbearably heavy, when the act of waking is not a rebirth into possibility but an unwelcome return to the ache of being. It is as though the body, in its weariness, has grown too tired to carry the soul’s anguish, and the mind, once curious and open, has become a room without windows. To sleep, then, feels like a sanctuary—a fleeting reprieve from the weight of oneself.

This kind of sorrow does not erupt like a storm; it seeps in slowly, like water rising unnoticed until it drowns the foundations of one’s spirit. Depression is not merely sadness; it is the absence of light, the silencing of joy, the estrangement from the self that once felt at home in the world. In its grasp, the simplest acts—opening one’s eyes, drawing breath, placing one foot before the other—can feel like tasks too monumental to bear.

Yet within this darkness, there is a quiet truth that often goes unspoken: even the night, no matter how long, eventually begins to dissolve into dawn. The gift of waking, however unwelcome it may feel, is a sign that somewhere deep within, life is holding onto you, even when you have no strength to hold onto it. To rise, even reluctantly, is an act of defiance against despair—a gesture, however small, of trust in the possibility of light.

Depression can distort the world, making it appear cruel and uninviting, yet it often teaches us something profound: that we cannot carry ourselves alone. It is an invitation—though a harsh one—to surrender the illusion of self-sufficiency and to open ourselves to the hands that would steady us, the voices that would remind us of our worth, the simple acts of kindness that tether us back to life.

In those moments of waking into pain, we may find a reverse nightmare indeed, but this is not the end of the story. The nightmare itself can become the teacher, urging us to search for what lies beyond it. Perhaps it is the soft miracle of a bird's song outside the window, the quiet consolation of a friend's presence, or the fragile yet undeniable truth that even here, in this shadowed valley, there are seeds of hope waiting to take root.

So let us honor this pain, not as an enemy, but as a part of the journey we never would have chosen, yet must walk through. And as we walk, let us remember that even the heaviest clouds cannot hold back the sky forever, and even the deepest night must eventually give way to dawn. For beneath it all, the soul is still stirring, still longing, still alive.

All my Love and Light,

An