In the Current of Myself

In the Current of Myself

“The Wrath Of The Seas”- Ivan Aivazovski

I stand in the current of my life and I don’t flinch. Not at the storm, not at the quiet, not at the places I carry that are still raw and untempered, not at the echoes of the past that linger and sometimes sting. I meet it all head-on, because running never solved anything. Every pulse of fear, every surge of uncertainty, every shadowed corner of memory, I meet it as it comes and let it teach me what it wants to teach.

I’m of the world and of myself, not apart from it, not softened by it, not numbed by it. I move through people, through spaces, through time, and I carry the light and the dark with me. Light and dark are both parts of me, neither forgiven, neither denied, just held. I don’t parse them. I don’t try to dissect them into neat compartments. I witness them. I let them exist, and in doing so, I exist.

I don’t apologize for how deeply I feel, for how honestly I think, for the way my body and mind calibrate together to process the world. Even when it looks quiet from the outside, the gravity of what is within me is heavy and alive. I’ve learned that gravity doesn’t always wear noise, that presence doesn’t always announce itself, that strength can be silent.

I’ve stopped running. I’ve stopped anesthetizing. I’ve stopped pretending that chaos and peace are separate, that one invalidates the other, that you have to choose between storm or calm. I hold both without losing either. They don’t fight me, I hold them. I let them flow through me, and in the flow I find rhythm, I find understanding, I find the unspoken currents of myself.

I let my body reset. I let my mind write. I let God guide the steps that I don’t yet understand, trusting the currents even when the path is invisible. I don’t seek escape. I seek clarity. I don’t chase light. I stand in the storm and let it pass through me. I allow it to touch me, shape me, move me without trying to dominate it.

This life isn’t a narrative I polish. It isn’t a story I shape for anyone else’s eyes. It’s a pulse I live. It’s movement and breathing and gravity and contrast, the sudden flashes of joy and the quiet ache of being, the tension and release, not tidy, not pretty, not packaged, just alive. Every step, every thought, every breath is mine, and mine alone to inhabit.

And that’s enough. Because I am enough. Because being fully here, in this current, in this storm, in this light and dark, is the only thing I was ever called to do. And it is alive. And it is mine.