All week I have suffered a glut of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. It wakes me early, out of peace, already firmly lodged in my conscious mind. It hassles me and impedes my thinking, it destroys my appetite and impairs my mood.
I hate it.
I know why it is there, mostly. And I know, too, its remedy. But just like taking a pill, I guess it will take time for this healing balm to reach the inflammation: my wounded, weary psyche.
Music helps. This song plays in my mind and, from time to time, on my iPod:
River Constantine
Carry me. Your love is wider than my need could ever be.
Come to me, and I will walk along your shore line
Feel your crashing waves sing in time with the pounding of my heart.
Come down, pour out on me.
River deep. Could I know you as well as you know me?
Constantine. Will we travel faster, farther than these
Legs could ever trustworthy be?
Come down, pour out on me.
Come down, pour out on me.
-Jars of Clay
