The night is darkening round me by Emily Brontë
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
I’ve had several occasions over the past few years to see just how strong the will to live can be as friends and family fought their way through difficult and deeply personal health challenges. It’s a remarkable thing, really, when this mighty aspect of inner will pushes up through the dark and stormy clouds of despair and opens a pathway through which the light of the inner fires can shine forth to greet the dawning day.
Such moments cannot be rehearsed, neither can one say with certainty how they will be met should one’s number be drawn in the lottery of life. What can be set in advance, however, is a pattern of essay, a standard for handling whatever comes one’s way.
Establishing a habit with respect to the trivial moments is the best way to prepare for the pivotal times.