Piece of Thread In-sight

your lifeline, big or small

 

The Story

I often speak of my piece of thread. Some use the term lifeline, but I like thread, maybe because I can visualize it better and it seems less threatening, less expectant. I feel that a lot of this "save yourself" kind of stuff puts too much pressure on the big saves. I like to think of things in bits and spurts, because it make it more accessible, gentle, and quiet.

A golden thread, mine glows. At least when I need it most. I can't always see it. In my real dark darks, I am alone, and there’s no thread. My lifelines become my obligations. They keep me afloat. My pups, my horses, the things I haven't done yet. They keep me moving, even if I cannot see the light.

But something is always there. All you need to do is crack open your eyes, squint, just a little. Or stick out a finger. Just barely, there you go…you’ll catch it.

The In-sight

This in-sight plainly has you grasping what you can easily see in your mind’s eye when the world is dark. It’s there, I promise you. In you. (A word of caution: people as lifelines can potentially complicate matters. For me, this is the case. Use your best judgment.)

I would recommend a favorite thought or object you like to think of. Just something, anything, to remind you that someday, just beyond the dark, just beyond the pain, beyond your view, there is something that that thread is attached to. It is the sun, it is the light, and it is you. You will get there. Even though you cannot always see it, you will get there. Because your thread is attached. And that sun is you. Then, you follow it.

Variations, Tips, and Possibilities

  • Another visual that can be used is a bit more playful. My Australian Cattledog, Ranger, was a velcro dog, as the breed is often called, and very attached to his mum (me). Or it might have been the other way around. Anyway, we’ll say he was attached to me, because it works for this visual. Every time I would go away and have to board him, I would make sure he had his tuna. Mr. Tuna was a plush, colorful, bright green fish toy that, over time and play, lost its squeaking capability. But it was a comfort, a reminder, that mama would be home soon. It was his light (I hope). And when I would get back, he would greet me with the utmost happy of happies (then cold shoulder me for a week). The point is, Mr. Tuna was his thread. So, find your Mr. Tuna, and hang on. You will definitely feel the light again.

  • If you need more help than this in-sight can provide, please follow THIS. You aren’t alone.