Angels guard thee

Sometimes in my sleep, when I am least on my guard, somewhere just below the fully conscious surface of my mind, I realise that I am weeping. Not the surface weeping restricted by thoughts of what people would think of me, but a deep sobbing, as if some control gates have opened releasing a built-up flood behind them.
There is something quite profound and reassuringly therapeutic about what is happening that I want it to continue for a while. It is accompanied by a desire that someone be present to witness with me what is happening, as if without it, the event will not carry sufficient weight to be a sustainable therapy for me.

I've tried to think through why this has happened and reason that it is in order that some kind of rebalancing can take place. In various places around the world we can find fresh springs of water. We know that some force below is pushing the water to the surface. Those who have studied these things will have a good explanation of how this comes about.

But what causes our weeping to rise from the depths of our unconscious being? I guess psychologists and therapists of one kind or another will have their explanations. Certainly we're fortunate to possess this inbuilt safety device which detects when parts of our system have reached a dangerous level and must be dealt with. Fully conscious, our personality fights against reducing this danger by the normal process of weeping. I know my system has been influenced and shaped in the past by the false premises of: Be a man. Men don't weep. Only weak people cry. It won't do for people to see you weeping…

Fortunately we are wiser today. Counselling is provided for those in highly stressed occupations, such as the fire service, ambulance and police. These people know that at any time they can call on the services of a trained counsellor to help them whenever they feel their inner stress is becoming too much for them to cope. I am thankful for that part of my system, which like guardian angels, keeps watch, helping me to weep when things become too much.

Now cracks a noble heart.
Good-night, sweet prince.
And flights of angels
sing thee to thy rest!

Hamlet v/1.373

Dennis Crompton © 1997
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)