Healing Script part 3: Shadow

The tiny entrance to the fortress-like monastery of Mar Musa, Syria.

I wanted to belong,
To be part of it,
But could not find a way in.
I could not sing their exotic hymns.
Even if I did speak Arabic
I could not surrender.

My mind spewed critique instead:

Loathing the daily rituals and prayers,
Denying their soothing qualities;

Loathing the priest every time he said Allah, Dio or God,
Denying his noble intentions to engage visitors in their native tongues;

Loathing the sudden desert storm that burst open my cave room door,
Denying the awe it demanded from me;

Calling my internal sobs pathetic,
Denying their healing nature.

Mind was triumphant.
I believed it all and shriveled further into the shadow of myself.

From my dark corner I stared at the bright candle in front of me and agreed:
“Yes, you are right,
I am just a depressed bundle of self-pity.”
Mind took a break, celebrating victory.

Another voice seized the moment and took centre stage,
Reminding me that indeed I was wallowing in self-pity,
A useless emotion that would only keep me stuck,
In my script of self-righteousness;
That indeed I was losing the battle with my fierce inner critic.
“Do not drown”, it said.
“Swim!”
“HELP ! ! !”

A prayer I learned as a kid came to mind.
I could only say it in Dutch.
In all earnest I recited:
“Heer ik ben niet waardig dat Gij tot mij komt,
Maar spreek slechts een woord en ik zal gezond worden”
(Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,
but only say the word and I shall be healed).

Out of desperation I repeated it two more times.
Funny how the religion that I abandoned a long time ago
Was now my only hope for salvation.