An Army of Mighty Warriors

If my anguish had a sound it would sound like the cry of a peacock.
You know
that haunting,
almost human scream
that seems too big a sound for a bird to make.
It is a sound that causes the last rays of sun to run
from the encroaching darkness
and for shadows to begin to crouch in the alleys and behind the dumpsters.
It is a sound that can make the stones hurt.
And the trees weep.
And the first stars of evening to appear apologetically, as if they are sorry to be the bearers of bad news.

We all have crosses to bear.
I want to share this story with you because whatever your cross, I don’t want you to feel alone.

When I was growing up there were peacocks that roamed about by the peanut mill not far from my house. They always screamed at twilight. Maybe they cried at other times too; if they did I never heard them.
I have a memory of walking home one twilight. This memory does not exist in a liner story line. Instead it is like one of those disco mirror balls
that spin around and around,
and on each of the little,
individual mirrors
I can see my face contorted
in different expressions of anguish: Anger/Fear/Sadness/Despair/Anger/Fear/Sadness/Despair/Anger/Fear/Despair…it just spins around and around until I’m nauseous.

I don’t remember how old I was when this happened. All I know is that I still had to abide by the house rule that all kids have to be home before the street lights came on. So I was walking home, and because it was twilight the peacocks were screaming like violated children. I glanced through the window of a house I was passing by and I saw a fat lady shoving a piece of bologna into her mouth. I could see into her house because it was darker outside than it was in her kitchen. Her skin was ashen; her hair was the color of grease.

The ball spins and other images are reflected:
An alley.
Some mean boys with greasy hair
saying greasy things to me as they leaned out of the car windows.
The radio is blaring. The noise hurts my ears.

The ball spins so fast it makes me dizzy and the images are blurred.
The sky is three layers of subsequently darker blue, impossibly blue.
I am fighting mad.
Furious.
Terrified.
Spitting gravel mad.

I can’t tell you what happened because it’s all jumbled up.
And that day was yesterday or maybe it was really a dream.
I don't know.
Things can happen in dreams that do not happen in real life.
But one thing I know, even though I don’t want to know.

This is what I know:
Sometimes a person can be crushed, broken, and torn apart even under the most beautiful sky, even when the sky becomes a fan of purple and cobalt blue, hiding the ruby, half closed eye of an indifferent sun.

Where did those colors come from?
I wonder.
How has the sky exploded into color?
If only I could make sense of the colors.

I can smell honeysuckle
but I can’t see where it’s growing.

The lady eats more bologna.

Now, many years later, as soon as the first lavender smudge of twilight appears in the sky I cringe in spite of myself. No matter how many times I remind myself that I am safe I still dread evening, I still fight the anguish that almost suffocates me every time the sun sets.
Praying the Liturgy of the Hours, and knowing that an entire army of people are praying too, makes it so much easier to bear. I didn't realize how much easier until I didn't have it for a few days.

Suffering is an inevitable part of the human experience, and we all have been wounded in one way or another. But I know that healing is possible. I can honestly say that even though I still struggle, my days are filled with far more joy than sorrow. But it seems to me that the more God reveals to us about His suffering, and about our own suffering, the deeper, if ever more mysterious our joy.

I don't understand it.
I am one warrior fighting a very dark enemy, but when I pray the Liturgy of Hours, especially with others, I know I am in the midst of an army of mighty warriors.
I thank God for putting the right books, teachers, friends, foster parents, doctors, social workers, religious leaders and lay ministers (including, maybe especially, divineoffice.org)into my life. I thank God for all the quiet trees and mountain brooks, the music, the poetry and the visual arts that I believe God uses to resonate our souls from a broken state into something wholesome. I thank God for giving us the capacity, as human beings, to become stronger by sharing our vulnerabilities.