This really isn't surprising. Of course the potential to rise up all the greater, wiser, exists every time we enter a dark patch.
John Keats: Ode to melancholy...
tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche,
nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu;
and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
Imagine your favourite teapot. Covered in mud. You remember how beautiful it used to be, how much you loved it. Now, though, it is caked with sticky, stinky mud. You cry, you despair, your heart aches with the apparent loss of that lovely thing. You start to wipe off the grime. Get serious. Focus on nothing else but removing that caked-on stench. And eventually, it comes clean. It's really clean! It gleams and shines and you can love it even more because of it's tricky journey. That is, if it hasn't been broken. That's a whole different rambling direction, that is. (I'm quietly confident it still has the potential to come out even more lovable, if it's broken and repaired.)
I thank this lovely teacher for being in the lives of my children. And I thank the mud that eventually is removed from my teapot (despite still, sometimes, swearing at the mud that doesn't budge). Today, I celebrate the journey with much love and thanks.
Celebrate yourself and shine on. Go on... you can listen to this to warm you up: