Hope is the wild ride between peace and fear.
I wrote “hope is the wild ride between peace and fear,” in a sketchbook-journal about 18 years ago. I’d just used the last of our gas money for that month to get to a woodsy waterfront retreat where we’d spend three days with other Quaker families, and I was more than a little stressed about taking time away from my business. My now-adult daughter was off being a happy fireball of a preschooler. The sun was starting to go down, my back was aching and I sat on our cabin steps and told myself to relax and listen and be open.
I started to draw the late afternoon sky. Though the air was very still nearby, the clouds on the horizon were moving and building. I paused, enjoying the sound of children’s laughter floating through the trees, and these words came to me: hope is the wild ride between peace and fear.
The sensation was as if an angel had laid a hand on my heart.
Now, I’m not much for humans laying down absolutes about what exists or not in the metaphysical or the hereafter or any form of great beyond – I try to leave that to whatever exists more over there, not to those of us who live in the physical here and now. However, I also don’t hold with looking a gift horse in the mouth.
I wrote it down and waited for more, or not more. Just being there was almost enough.