The Fog of Confusion



The fog of confusion comes rolling in and hides all form….leaving the feeling of loss to flood the soul in overwhelming waves of doubt, sorrow, fear and despair. Scrambling to think…to search for answers…with nothing to hold onto….this is uncertainty. The fog of confusion comes rolling in and hides all form….leaving only questions….which way now?…how will I know?…when will I know?…why is this happening?…where am I?…how can this be?…what am I doing here?…what now?…what can I do? The fog of confusion comes rolling in and hides all form…leaving few choices. Stumbling, struggling, going back and forth…becoming lost. Resistance or Faith? Allowing the confusion to be…surrendering to the moment in acceptance and forgiveness…relinquishing the patterns of resistance, underneath the sorrow…coming to a sacred place into stillness…inner peace. The soul returns home. Suddenly the fog of confusion lifts. The firm, solid foundation of a mountain is revealed. Trust is reborn. The foundation of a mountain is the stronghold of depth in Divine Presence…the essence of Divine Love.

“Breathing in, I see myself as a mountain. Breathing out, I feel solid. Nothing can move or distract me. Mountain, solid.”

~Thich Nhat Hahn~ 

*photo from Pinterest via Kayleigh Furnell:

Autumn Fog/ La Niebla de Otoño

ImageThe vague fog flows from the sea toward the streets

like the steam-breath of cattle buried in the cold,

and long tongues of water gather, covering the month

that our lives had been promised would be heavenly.

Del mar hacia las calles corre la vaga niebla

como el vapor de un buey enterrado en el frio,

y largas lenguas de agua se acumulan cubriendo

el mes que a nuestras vidas prometió ser celeste.


Autumn on the march, whistling honeycomb of leaves,

when your standards fly over our towns

crazy women sing good-bye to the rivers,

horses whinny toward Patagonia.

Adelanto otoño, panal silbante de hojas,

cuando sobre los pueblos palpita to estandarte

cantan mujeres locas despidiendo a los rios,

los caballos relinchan hacia la Patagonia.


On your face is an evening vine,

climbing silently, that love lifts

up toward the crackling horseshoes of the sky.

Hay una enredadera vespertina en tu rostro

que crece silenciosa por el amor llevada

hasta las herraduras crepitantes del cielo.


I bend toward the fire  of your nocturnal body, and I love

not only your breasts but autumn, too, as it spreads

its ultramarine blood through the fog.

Me inclino sobre el fuego de tu cuerpo nocturno

y no solo tus senos amo sino el otoño 

que esparce por la niebla su sangre ultramarina.

~Pablo Neruda~