The song "You Can't Rush Your Healing" by Trevor Hall, particularly the lyric, “Darkness has its teachings,” touches me deeply in the body flow classes at the gym.
Life, with its rhythm of peaks and valleys, is an unpredictable journey, leaving us yearning for the peaks and the moments of ease. We drift along when everything aligns and the world feels light. But the valleys, the dark periods of struggle and difficulty, are where real transformation takes place.
In the valley, it is easy to ask questions that stem from frustration, confusion, or pain: "Why is this happening?" or "Why is this person acting like this?" These moments of darkness hold teachings if we pause to ask, “What is this situation trying to teach me?”
For me, this shift in perspective comes when I allow myself to be still—when I meditate. In meditation, it’s as though the noise of the world falls away, and I gain clarity. I see that everything in life is impermanent—the joy, the pain, the confusion, the clarity—all of it shifts and changes. Nothing lasts long enough. With this understanding, I become more attuned to the fleeting nature of my experiences, and in that awareness, healing begins.
One of the most profound realizations that often arises during meditation is the vastness yet emptiness of all phenomena.
Despite this knowledge, I often find myself falling into old patterns when life does not unfold per my plans. I’m not immune to the human tendency to take things personally or let small irritations snowball into larger problems in my mind. For me, the first physical signs of this mental dissonance show up in my body—aches and pains, a sense of tension—and my instinct is to reach for external solutions, like painkillers, to fix it. But the body’s pain is just a reflection of the inner turmoil that I have not yet addressed.
Painkillers can numb the body, but they can’t touch the inner voices. True relief comes only when I pause, sit, and allow clarity to emerge. It’s in these moments of stillness that I recognize the impermanence of it all. The body will hurt, emotions will rise, but just as surely, they will fade. This realization brings me peace, even in the most turbulent times.
There’s a certain irony in this: When life is flowing smoothly, I sometimes slack off from my meditation practice. But when the darkness appears, it forces me back to the cushion. In this way, I am reminded that both light and dark are necessary for growth. I am grateful for the darkness, not because it is comfortable, but because it holds the lessons I need to learn, and through it, my healing continues.
Healing, I have come to understand, cannot be rushed. It unfolds in its own time, often slowly, with small steps, and sometimes with setbacks. But it is happening, nonetheless, and each step along the way—whether in the light or in the dark—brings me closer to who I am meant to be. Yes, “Darkness has its teachings,” and I am grateful for it.
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