Sometimes I feel a sadness come over me that can't be remedied and for no reason in particular. It's everywhere within me, spreading through my veins, slowing my breath--a culmination of all the losses, disappointments, hurt and a deep self-doubt that comes up more often than it doesn't. It's a sadness that dissipates when I lose myself in convo with a hummingbird. Or sway gently, bare feet gripping into damp wood chips as I water my garden. The sadness is freed when I step outside, forehead lifted to the big, bright sun, sweat tears pouring down my self-cleaning skin. The sadness shakes loose when I move so deliberately, I release all other focus for a few seconds that - when I really let it all go - can stretch into a matter of glorious minutes, like hydroplaning reality. The sadness ebbs and flows when I listen to folk music as sweet, earthy incense curls into the night air. Or I light candles and write letters to my best friend who passed on. He told me once that the sadness is good, it's cleansing. I try to remember that when I feel like I need to push it away or replace it with a happier emotion. The darker states make me feel like I should know better. I have "tools" to limit these low-energy experiences. Maybe I can tuck the tool box in the closet sometimes and let it be. Maybe I don't need to erase the sadness. It will lift when it's ready. It always does. Something beautiful comes along and I can't help but smile.