My son threw a fit this morning. He didn’t want to go to school and made it clearly known. It is two days before Christmas break and all week, month (maybe the last two) they have had dress up and spirit days that, in effort to express false spirit and exuberance, burnt his own spirit out.
There is a simple answer.
“You don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to,” I say, “Wear what you want.”
An expected contention, and point of challenge, is felled without blow or battle and his will to fight is reduced. I know because his sounds of resistance (a bouncing of body, ball, or something else off floor and walls of his room) cease.
Dressed as he wants, sweatpants and baseball shirt, he joins me in the kitchen. I make him a breakfast of birthday cake left over from two nights before. Beginning to eat, he sits at the table, pensive.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he stares into a thought I cannot see.
“Thinking,” he answers, keeping in his distance.
I leave the room and head for the office. I return, a candle in hand. I light it and put it by his side.
“Candles always help me think,” I share.
His eyes return and his thoughts are near again, away from a shadow and heaviness on which he seemed to stare. He plays with the light, blowing over wick and growing pool of melting wax watching flame flicker in dance of his blowing breath.
He heats his cake, studies flame, and smiles with eyes and attention near. He is happy. I know by way his head and swinging foot, not yet reaching to the floor, dance as he eats and thinks—mind and spirit then in better state and place.
*****
I have my days too—when I’m burnt out and just want to pout; but it doesn’t change anything and attention and feeding only allows for the bad energy to build.
I’ve learned what works for me.
I light a candle, let whatever it is burn away. I go distant for a time before returning to the light—better than before.
I write, put shape and form to thoughts that are there and, by process, whatever energy troubled and strained in before is made less. Many phantoms that we perceive show themselves to be very little when we give them form and see them in the light. Shadows are more ominous than the truths from which they’re cast.
Writing now, I look at the light; on candle flame as wax melts, feeding wick, as flame grows higher, brighter, and dances as it wills.
This was my morning. This was my thought.
Outside, a strong frost shows. The sun is not yet risen but, soon, it will. The frost will melt and change and burn away, and after will be landscape of blue sky, green wheat, tan and flaxen pastures, and wooded stands that show as shadow absent leaves.
But right now, most prominent is the frost—violet shaded before with in the light of risen and showing sun. Before me, candle still burns; it’s light a companion in the quiet.
Gone is the negativity of day’s start.
It will be a good day!
I know, and I believe.
By candle—soft-lit thoughts and light-guided attention—better energy resides.