The picture is of a young women, on her knees in anguish and prayer, exhausted and over-whelmed by the thoughts, the thoughts, the incessant torrent of torment in thoughts. She’s been praying for outcomes, for solutions, for answers, she feels so alone and abandoned, as if there’s a door welded shut between her and the divine.
All the learning, all the self-examination, all the practice trying to establish dominion over the thoughts have been of no avail – still the deep-seated accusations: I’n not worthy, I’m not good enough, I’m not safe if I’m seen because I will be attacked for my lack of value.
Who is this I? The learning says it’s merely the illusion of identity, a projection along the journey. This time, a new sense is forming, a curiosity – what happens if she lets go trying to control the thoughts? Maybe just allow them, as perfect mirrors of a need for healing?
Now the prayer is of one thought – Father, I ask to be healed. Wait, is there a crease of light she sees from the door?