Today, someone made me relive an old sorrow, wanting to know of every valley and crevasse traversed, moving from dark to light. There was a strange uneasiness in me over the request. The asking seemed innocent enough, but I sensed a shadow attach itself to it.
I shook it off, and with will, returned my gaze to the need at hand.
With reluctance, I undertook the journey to where an old grief rests, not relishing the dusting off of mists that separate me from the sadness. When the sojourn into the resting place of memories finally ended, I took my leave, uncomfortably aware of my spirit drooping under a heaviness not familiar to me.
What dark mist is this that has immersed itself so deep within me, I wondered. It did not come from the reacquainting with pain, of that I was sure. Something else. Something foreign. Something that did not have a right to mark my spirit with its presence.
It didn’t just sink its claws into me; I soon saw that it had clenched too the seeker of my counsel – the intensity of seeking had waned; something else had caught her attention. Enticed, she ran to it.
I turned to my guardian, St Joseph. Help me, I entreated, discern this. Why has it come? What do I do?
In gentle immediacy, the light of response, borne on a lily-breath flooded my soul:
Write about it.
And with it, a serenity tendrilled and settled within me.
I do not have all the answers, but for now, it does not matter. All I sense is that a sinister spirit invaded as someone sought my help to understand trials. It came to smear my efforts with a darkened slant. To blot out the grace of mercy by replacing it with a distraction.
And in a way only heaven sees, the antidote to this sullen malice is to bring it to brethren eyes. Perhaps to awaken pilgrim spirits to a cognizance of a shadow in the watchtower where mercy is most needed.