I am mesmerized by the double-sided nature of the word – clear and glass and reflective and all the while sending out a prismatic array of colour. Its colour and weight exist only in tandem with all that excites and incites action, activity, and movement.
Calm –the cessation. The stillness on a lake which breathes peace and tranquility into one’s thoughts, notable and inviting for its beauty and for its rarity. The absence of wind and turmoil.
Calm – the extinguished fire. The point at which burning ends and smoke settles – the quiet after.
Calm –the focused lock down. The clear mind in a crisis, moving without agitation, intent and reasoned.
I much prefer to walk the quiet road of calm. I have a low tolerance for “chaos.” The words “calm down,” and “keep calm,” are frequently spoken in my home. I say them like little prayers over my children wishing them into compliance. However, these children of mine are growing selves, full to bursting with wants, desires, passions, and deep feelings. Winds blow across the lake of our lives daily; gentle waves to whitecaps. Calm is rare.
I am an agent for calm. I walk around “putting out fires” to keep my calm. I douse flames as they rise up and threaten my peace and quiet. As a mother, I extinguish as routine. I temper. Might I also be dampening the spirits of passionate souls? This is the sidedness of calm which troubles me sometimes as I go to bed at night. What is the cost of calm above all else?
The story of Jesus and the disciples in the boat comes to mind. Jesus was calm, he slept while the storm raged; he did not rush to calm the waters. In fact he only did so because his fellow boat mates were whipping up a fear storm on their own. I am certainly not Jesus, I am the seeker of calm not the calm sleeper who trusts while in the storm. Am I therefore “ye, of little faith”? Alas, I fear so.
The one very true thing I can say about being a mother is this: I am never settled or calm when it comes to the decisions I make regarding my own children. The waves lap relentless at the side of the boat; oftentimes threatening and worrisome. I want to see the placid lake, I want to know it is all clear sailing. I want this with a fierceness churning about in my heart.
And so my mind turns back again to the double-sidedness of calm. It is the weighty anchor, holding me in place while the storm within rages on.
The #wholemama word this week is: Calm Follow me over to Overflow to read more stories from lovely #wholemama storytellers.