The 75-Foot Blue Cable

I just have nothing left. I needed a place where I didn’t have to know what was out there. Where I could just close my eyes and not see bodies torn to pieces or hear children calling out for help.
— Criminal Minds, Gideon in "The Fisher King: Part I"

I'm a crisis therapist. I am connected by 75-feet of blue cable that winds around doorways from my Cox modem to my laptop:  I conduct TeleVideo mental health assessments to my friends who have sunk deep into the mud, the insanity of desperation. The found and lost of Kansas. Working the 7 pm to 8 am shift--Sunday through Tuesday--I have touched my own wounds and wondered:  Where is the key that unlocks the door of our freedom?  

The vague and mysterious callings of spirituality wash over me like thunderstorms, unpredictable, confident in power, with certainty of purpose.  Storms that shake the ground and light up the darkness.  It is midnight, 1:00 am, 3:40 am....and my phone continues to ring. I am called to walk into the darkness, as the faces on the TeleVideo monitor report:  I'm possessed by aliens, please help me.  And another sits atop a 94-pound body, a 24-year-old, brown-eyed innocent, twitching and itching, a body and mind ruined with the poison of meth, who tells me she doesn't do drugs, that she's lost her three children, and has taken razor blades to her wrists.  And another, a 14-year-old boy, who has put a rope around his neck, trying to escape because he loves another boy, who can never know his true heart.  

Some, maybe many, of these will die to this earth.  I've lost two children to this...cruel hopelessness that seems bottomless, the paradise lost in a drug-induced cacophony of confusion.  My son Malachi died five years ago, a heroin addict with a traumatic brain injury. Veronica left less than 4 months ago, opioid and pill addiction, leaving behind a two sweet children, an 11-year-old and 6-month old.  Leaving behind parents grieving with heartbreak.

I listen.  And I listen deeply.  Spirituality rains down upon me, a lullaby wise and compassionate. A symphony piercing my Soul.  And sometimes the shower is just a simple folk melody inviting me to relax:  "You might say he found the key to every door." [John Denver, Rocky Mountain High]

The key?  It is no longer a 75-foot blue cable snaking invisible and untethered through the night.  No more, I am certain now:  The key is shaped like a heart, comprised of dreams tender and confident--a sun emerging through the dawn, bright, aroused, clear, sweet, unscathed and guiding.  As my beloved told me this morning, "Don't doubt in the darkness, the things that you are sure of in the light."

I think the key is Divine Love.