A Misty Morning

This was written yesterday, but I forgot to hit "publish" when finished.
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It's foggy today. Before I lived up-island, I saw fog so seldom, that it was interesting and beautiful. After 7 years of living jn a small fishing village that was regularly "socked in", blanketed with fog so thick that anything past about 20 feet would be lost in a wall of pale grey, where I didn't see sunshine for weeks on end, winter or summer, I lost my appreciation for it. Now that I'm living again in a sunnier, warmer, altogether more amenable climate, I feel the way I once did, when I look out my windows and see that soft pale mist obscuring the distant view.

Denial is like fog - we compress our worldview down to a size we feel able to manage, by simply obscuring that which we don't feel able to address or accept. If we don't see it, it isn't there. We feel all the effects of the reality, while still denying.

The building beyond that stand of trees may be invisible when the fog is in, but it's still there. All the bricks and metal, all the residents and their belongings are just as real, whether or not I can see them from my vantage point.

So it is with life - I may deny with passion and fury, but the object of my denial, whether person or circumstance, is no less true for my refusal to see and accept.

I pray for the courage to see clearly.