As a reflective person who spends not a little time splashing around in the deep well of my soul, I can usually find a rope connected to a bucket
and pull something up that makes sense and gives me
insight into the nature of what I am experiencing. But, alas, much as I have been thrashing about
in the well, no rope is to be found.
I know that the best thing to do is float for a while, but my perturbation makes me want to kick violently. I know that eventually the rope will surface, but my irritation makes me want to grasp wildly. I know that a sunken pail lies beneath the dark water, but my aggravation makes me want to dive blindly.
The words “Peace, be still” throw desire into my soul. But anger stirs a storm not easily calmed. Yet, there are no others to be had when the truth is hidden beneath the waves. My writhing stirs it down. My stillness brings it to the surface. There on the surface, the truth about my anger is then revealed. Settled in “Peace, be still.”