Keep your eyes open at all times for signs. Even in the midst of my recent funk, I kept to my routine, attending yoga each week. (I find that keeping to routine is a sure way to defend against a spiral of disorienting chaos, which usually makes everything seem worse than it is. Routine is a battlement against the barbarians at the gate.)
My yoga instructor handed out this poem by the ancient poet Rumi, titled The Guest House. I will post it here:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep you house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
I took this poem, serendipitously received, as a sign. Of what? That I should be patient. That I should be open. Receptive. Aware. Mindful that this too shall pass, and who knows? A seemingly dark and dormant period may yield a great bounty, just as it does in nature.
This poem is full of grace. To all the wonderful people who have supported me and this blog and been so understanding as I shake off these blues, I hope you also benefit from the poem's magnanimity.