I’ve been a bit melancholy lately.  An optimist by most measures, I just don’t feel right in this state.   But right now there’s a jumble of emotions and annoyances and hurts and fears bubbling just beneath the surface.  I want so desperately to unpack them all and turn them over and over in my hands until -- after feeling the sharp edges of every demon -- I understand their presence and purpose.

Is that even possible?

I don’t know, but I found this today on a blog I read regularly called Swirly Girl:

I am not trying to squash these voices as much as let them have their tantrums all they want while I simply go on working.  Sometimes you have to invite your demons right through your front door and serve them tea and cookies, and before too long you'll realize they aren't giant ogres with sharp claws and blazing eyes, but frightened children that have tiny arms and feet.

I don’t know Swirly Girl but she sounds very Zen.  I’ve been studying Buddhist teachings for quite some time now,  and inviting my demons over for tea seems right in line with Dharma.  Let me put the water on.

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Nice to meet you hurtful comment.  Won’t you come in?  You came from the mouth of a dear friend and while I don’t think she sent you to hurt me, I don’t understand why you came at me so sharply.  And how do I tell her that you’ve pierced me?  Usually, you and your type breeze past me without so much as a sideways glance.  But this time, the wound you gouged is festering.  How do I release you and your infection without spilling the ugliness on my friend? 

Hello unspoken loss.  How can I grieve for you if I can’t talk of you?  Why does silence overtake us instead of sharing?  The unacknowledged is an abyss that can never be spanned, you know, and it seems we have neither the tools nor the strength to build the bridge.

Welcome unresolved fear.  I’ve been staring you down for 20 years and, yet, I won’t really take you on.  I find courage for everyone and everything else, except when it comes to you.  It’s so much easier to persist with the devil I know than face the unknown.  And what if it’s not you?  What if you went away and I remained unhappy and afraid?  Who would I blame then? 

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I’m glad I took the time to learn these demons’ names.  They seem less daunting . . . frightened children, you know.  Put to words, they’re less like demons and more like ghosts, haunting the corridors of my heart.  Come out into the open, spirits, where I can get to know you.  We might make our peace over another cup of tea.