Dark Days

Unseasonably cold in May is 50s at night and 60s during the day.  Some Memorial Day weekends are so hot I sweat, even with the air conditioner on.  But not this one.  This year the marine layer is so thick and heavy it feels like one of those gravity weighted blankets that’s supposed to help you sleep.  That’s exactly how I feel.  Like I want to sleep until the sun comes out, which might not be until next week.  I can’t escape the sight of it or the feel of it.  My house, with it’s many full-sized curtainless windows, is a giant wide-angle lens to the outdoors.  The tile floors, non-existent attic, and single pane windows trap the cold.  Some people would find 50/60 degree weather warm.  I’m chilled to the bone.  I can’t believe I’m writing about Southern California.

I don’t expect much sympathy.  Hardship is for those just now escaping a long hard winter.  I’m a lightweight.  A native southern Californian.  Blue sky and sunshine are my daily companions.  The marine layer holding the sun prisoner is rare.  Even on these grey days, which are common in May and June — months fondly referred to as May grey and June gloom — the marine layer releases the sun in the very late afternoon.  Rainy days, while few and far between, are not as bad as this.  Rain clouds are colored with the promise of renewal and growth.  The marine layer is merely dark and confining.  I’d never survive a long hard winter.  I’m not even sure I’m going to survive the next few days.

What is it about being blue that prevents you from acting in your own best interest?  That prevents you from partaking in the activities you know will lift your spirits?  Some lively music.  A walk in nature.  A visit with a friend.  Maybe a little time with my art supplies.  I know what to do, but I can’t seem to get myself to do it.

I could sit here and beat myself up over this as I have done in the past when the dark side wants to take over.  But I am trying to learn a new way of being.  Lately I’ve been reading the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, a Buddhist monk and spiritual leader.  Buddhism discourages the battlefield treatment of self.  Sorrow, fear, and depression are as organic as love and compassion and optimism.  Depression can be transformative.  An ingredient for growth, like compost.  Embrace it tenderly.  Talk to it like you would a child.  Breathe in, I know you are there, depression.  Breathe out, I will take care of you.  Perhaps a flower will grow.  I want to believe this.  It seems logical to me.  But in this moment, cloaked in this oppressive blanket called the marine layer, I’m reminded that sun is also required to grow flowers.  And this flower needs a little sun.