Thursday, May 16, 2013
Magic in the Courtyard
I am excited to announce that I had the opportunity to be a guest on a business blog today. I work with Seniors everyday and today, I was the guest host for the JCC Banter. Click HERE and check it out!
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Bring on the Sun
The pitter patter slowed to a mist
tulips rose to the occasion
raindrops on petals
like fallen tears, they began to evaporate
A glow showed over the horizon
bringing new life, new hope, new dreams
She could feel the rise of excitement growing inside
Butterflies, fluttered inside her.
A soft breeze rose, flowing across the meadow
offering the scent of exotic flowers
causing her to lift herself
from the slumber of heavy thoughts
A new day, a new adventure
What was this warmth,
growing inside her?
What was this feeling of anticipation?
Love! It felt like love.
What else would create a friendly nervousness?
What else would cause her to smile
at interrupted sleep?
I watched them from a distance.
I saw her stand and raise her arms
to welcome Love and the warm embrace
of the sun.
The uniqueness of this picture
was viewing the sun shining from inside
glowing, churning, begging to break through
skin to touch her lips, her face, hold her
love her, show her the way to the dance floor.
This newness of beauty
surrounded by breeze and flowers
opened her petals, causing her to bloom
errupting in kisses from the sunshine
Amazing, Relaxing, calming
yet arousing, the warming kiss of the sun
brought her to the edge of the earth and showed her
a galaxy she had never seen.
Rushing through, beyond the moon
she felt each star brush her face
heard the music of each one
as if it had written a song for her
Reaching the edge of crazy
hearts racing, souls blending
the sun took her to a new level of ecstacy
before gently allowing her to land softly on earth again.
She recognized this bond of souls
She found herself cradled in the arms of the sun
warm and tired from loving and being loved
Feeling peaceful, she fell asleep, again.
This time only for a nap.
It was the beginning of a new summer.
She was free of clouds and shadows
Free to love. Free to be.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
To Be or Not to Be, That is the Question
I ran so hard,
I heard the noise,
all of it so loud,
drowning out the voice of my sorrow
Chasing rainbows
Ignoring storm clouds
wishing for a bright silver lining
Saving everyone but myself
coming to a crashing, dead end halt
I am forced to reconcile with the realization
I have been a Human - Doing
not a human being.
Now I have no choice
I have no energy
no motivation
no strength
I am sitting here
in the dark, silence with myself
surrounded by
projects
work
people
laundry
books
bills
noise
and on the inside
I am raw
My heart cries for a quiet place
a secret place
So right now
I am the one dwelling in the secret place
of the most high God
resting, ABIDING in the shadow of the Almighty
I have not left His side, nor He mine
I have not disappeared.
I am simply just being.
I have no choice.
My body and my mind have
forced me to sit
to dwell
to be
So I will not question whether to be or not to be.
I will just BE.
I will just BE still.
I will just BE still and know.
I will just BE still and know that He is God.
Friday, April 19, 2013
My Truth Today
Every human being is conditioned by his or her environment. We are born into a world without a voice to speak for ourselves, completely reliant on the person(s) who brought us into this world in the first place. I cannot speak for another person's condition. I can only speak for mine.
We have the opportunity at some point to speak up for ourselves. Some are surrounded by loving people who train them to use their voices for such an occasion. I was trained that everything happens for a reason and I should be submissive to whatever comes along, bear it and know God knows what is best for me. Had I been able to distinguish the difference in good and bad people, this may have worked. However, I was unable to do that.
From my earliest memory, there was always a cloud of grief, sadness and despair hanging over my home. My father, a simple man, was vibrant, happy and energetic, sought to take on life and brought spontaneity with him, was able to provide a fun-filled atmosphere of dreams and adventures. My mother was wrapped in the grave clothes of the mother she had buried while pregnant with me. I don't remember Mother ever taking those grave clothes off. She wore them with pride and sadness. She talked of her mother as if she had never left. Even in dreams and nightmares, Grandmother appeared to Mama, in the middle of the night. Mama would seem thrilled to see her, as she woke my father and I screaming and pointing for us to look! In Mama's mind, grandmother couldn't be dead. That was just too much to bear.
My grandmother died a mysterious death by drowning in the middle of the night, in a creek at her sister's (my great-aunt) home on a farm. No one has ever learned what lead my grandmother to that creek, away from her warm bed that night. No one discovered she was gone until later the next morning. After the discovery it took a whole day to find her body. Life for my mother and my great aunt changed that day and were never the same afterwards.
Six months later, I was born. I grew up, believing suffering and becoming a martyr was the way a good Christian ought to live. In the despondence and cadence of funeral dirges my mother was able to carry on with life and even spoke often to me about how much I was like my grandmother. This was very comforting to me at times since my grandmother was so highly regarded in the eyes of my mother. I never realized it was an unspoken rule that no one who actually knew Grandmother was never allowed to talk about her mental illness, except my mother. In fact, only in recent months have I realized the only things my Dad ever said about my grandmother, were to answering questions, validating my mother's detailed and somewhat distorted descriptions of her.
I recognize, forty-three years later, my grandmother was severely, mentally ill in an era where modern medicine was considered four padded walls, a straight-jacket and high doses of what we now consider to be "barbaric" medications. I also recognize, forty-three years later, my mother suffered with mental illness and was never treated for it.
We depended on the Lord to heal and deliver. Medicines for depression and bi-polar disorders were not nearly as effective and/or available even as late as the 80's. By 1990, when my father passed away, my mother was on a downward spiral and even the Lord didn't "save" her physical body or spare her mental anguish. She died at the age of 60 years old from complications of Alzheimer's Disease. She had lived with that diagnosis for ten years.
I spent the next six years trying to make sense of it all. I threw myself into the only thing I knew that was sworn to take away all troubles and trials. I followed the call and became an ordained minister.
Today, I am sitting at my table, after much self - reflection. I have just come through a winter of the deepest depression I have ever been through. I have begun to grieve the loss of my truly mentally ill mother. After six years of getting her to the pedestal of Sainthood, I realize that I never once considered the thought that maybe, just maybe she was as mentally tormented and Grandmother. I never recognized the signs of her condition until it was too late, because that would have meant I had been birthed and lived my childhood around a funeral pyre, belonging to my long-deceased grandmother.
I am recognizing the secret of my success has been created in an effort to ward off the potential truth I would have to face. That truth I am forced to stare at in the face now. I came from a painfully dysfunctional home. I was raised to believe that if God loved me, He would spare me the details of the sorrows my family was drowning in. I guess for a while, that diluted truth worked. That truth forced me to "work" my way through many dangers, toils and snares. I made to age forty-three in complete denial.
Now, I am wide awake. I am raw inside. I am painfully angry with myself. I am angry with my mother, even though I still know, she did the best she could with what she had. Without her, I would not be here. After all she gave me life. And I am angry. I am so sad inside.
The one thing that truly has worked for me, coping, getting through and moving forward is my ability to paint my story in words. That gets me through the yuck to the other side. Right now, I am choosing to move forward and figure my way out of this. And I DO KNOW that, with the Lord's help, I will get through it. And I believe I will be better for it. Right now, as small as it may seem, this is all I have to give, my words and my truth.
We have the opportunity at some point to speak up for ourselves. Some are surrounded by loving people who train them to use their voices for such an occasion. I was trained that everything happens for a reason and I should be submissive to whatever comes along, bear it and know God knows what is best for me. Had I been able to distinguish the difference in good and bad people, this may have worked. However, I was unable to do that.
From my earliest memory, there was always a cloud of grief, sadness and despair hanging over my home. My father, a simple man, was vibrant, happy and energetic, sought to take on life and brought spontaneity with him, was able to provide a fun-filled atmosphere of dreams and adventures. My mother was wrapped in the grave clothes of the mother she had buried while pregnant with me. I don't remember Mother ever taking those grave clothes off. She wore them with pride and sadness. She talked of her mother as if she had never left. Even in dreams and nightmares, Grandmother appeared to Mama, in the middle of the night. Mama would seem thrilled to see her, as she woke my father and I screaming and pointing for us to look! In Mama's mind, grandmother couldn't be dead. That was just too much to bear.
My grandmother died a mysterious death by drowning in the middle of the night, in a creek at her sister's (my great-aunt) home on a farm. No one has ever learned what lead my grandmother to that creek, away from her warm bed that night. No one discovered she was gone until later the next morning. After the discovery it took a whole day to find her body. Life for my mother and my great aunt changed that day and were never the same afterwards.
Six months later, I was born. I grew up, believing suffering and becoming a martyr was the way a good Christian ought to live. In the despondence and cadence of funeral dirges my mother was able to carry on with life and even spoke often to me about how much I was like my grandmother. This was very comforting to me at times since my grandmother was so highly regarded in the eyes of my mother. I never realized it was an unspoken rule that no one who actually knew Grandmother was never allowed to talk about her mental illness, except my mother. In fact, only in recent months have I realized the only things my Dad ever said about my grandmother, were to answering questions, validating my mother's detailed and somewhat distorted descriptions of her.
I recognize, forty-three years later, my grandmother was severely, mentally ill in an era where modern medicine was considered four padded walls, a straight-jacket and high doses of what we now consider to be "barbaric" medications. I also recognize, forty-three years later, my mother suffered with mental illness and was never treated for it.
We depended on the Lord to heal and deliver. Medicines for depression and bi-polar disorders were not nearly as effective and/or available even as late as the 80's. By 1990, when my father passed away, my mother was on a downward spiral and even the Lord didn't "save" her physical body or spare her mental anguish. She died at the age of 60 years old from complications of Alzheimer's Disease. She had lived with that diagnosis for ten years.
I spent the next six years trying to make sense of it all. I threw myself into the only thing I knew that was sworn to take away all troubles and trials. I followed the call and became an ordained minister.
Today, I am sitting at my table, after much self - reflection. I have just come through a winter of the deepest depression I have ever been through. I have begun to grieve the loss of my truly mentally ill mother. After six years of getting her to the pedestal of Sainthood, I realize that I never once considered the thought that maybe, just maybe she was as mentally tormented and Grandmother. I never recognized the signs of her condition until it was too late, because that would have meant I had been birthed and lived my childhood around a funeral pyre, belonging to my long-deceased grandmother.
I am recognizing the secret of my success has been created in an effort to ward off the potential truth I would have to face. That truth I am forced to stare at in the face now. I came from a painfully dysfunctional home. I was raised to believe that if God loved me, He would spare me the details of the sorrows my family was drowning in. I guess for a while, that diluted truth worked. That truth forced me to "work" my way through many dangers, toils and snares. I made to age forty-three in complete denial.
Now, I am wide awake. I am raw inside. I am painfully angry with myself. I am angry with my mother, even though I still know, she did the best she could with what she had. Without her, I would not be here. After all she gave me life. And I am angry. I am so sad inside.
The one thing that truly has worked for me, coping, getting through and moving forward is my ability to paint my story in words. That gets me through the yuck to the other side. Right now, I am choosing to move forward and figure my way out of this. And I DO KNOW that, with the Lord's help, I will get through it. And I believe I will be better for it. Right now, as small as it may seem, this is all I have to give, my words and my truth.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Breaking Through Part 2 - practicing writing my memoir
I found myself pacing back and forth from my chair to the altar at one of the last churches my family went to. Tormenting travail took hold of my mind. Confusion as to how I got there, dissipated as the weight on my chest became heavier. Fear squeezed my mind on all sides like vice grips. Clamping down, each prong, probing my mind for sermons of hell and condemnation. Fear of separation from my loved ones, fear of eternal fire, fear of being cast into utter darkness with demons, all these fears came alive with each probe.
Desperate to find relief, I chanted prayers of forgiveness. Tears rained down on my white knuckles. I was wringing my hands. Thunder boomed like the blare of Daddy's voice, "Be sure! Be sure! Be very sure!"
Unable to bear the anguish of not knowing "how to be sure", I fell to my knees, face down against the hard wood floor of the church, hands pulling my hair from my scalp. "Help! Save me! Have mercy! Release me from this hell!" all came in blood-curdling screams from my throat, through tears and agony. My body shook violently. My stomach gave up its contents. My face swelled from the strain of bitter tears.
The images of my promiscuity after sexual abuse burned the sockets of my eyes. Pleasure and pain fused together. I was unable to distinguish where one ended and the other began.
Another clap of thunder caused me to lurch forward. Wind whirled swiftly around me. I was lifted to a higher level of awareness. Before coming to my senses in the glass case, a whisper in the wind said, "I have not given you the spirit of fear, but power, love and a sound mind."
The valley of torment was deep. But the grace of God was deeper still. As quickly as it had awakened my senses, the nightmare ended. My eyelids, like butterfly wings, fluttered until I was able to focus. I saw that the forest of twisted trees had been pulled up by their roots and were laying on the ground outside the glass case. The scaffolding was gone. A new strength coursed through the muscle of my legs and I stood tall to look as far as I could. Daffodils bloomed illuminating the sky beyond the horizon. The sun was so bright, I squinted.
'Power, love and a sound mind', I thought, 'Freedom from fear, embracing love, illuminating love, this is what I want.' I held my arms straight out at my sides, palms pressing against the glass. Feet positioned in the sand, with all my might, I began pressing to break through. When I realized my efforts were in vain, I kicked the glass walls with my heels, looking for tiny fractures. Hours must have passed. Weak and angry, I sat in a heap and sulked. I didn't understand. How could I go through life, in this hell, survive to see beauty beyond the glass, only to remain encased and alone? I heard the humming sound again. This time with words. "His banner over me is love."
An orchestra like none I had ever heard, angelic voices, creating music, rushed into the case. I couldn't help myself. I had to dance. Her voice rose above the others, with a crescendo, repeating words I had read somewhere before. "The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love, he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."
I found myself twirling on one leg, arms straight out, face to the sky, drinking in this amazing love. I was dancing with God! Alone, just God and me, dancing. Laughter flowed freely, vibrating the glass walls and it was my laughter. He had made me glad.
Invisible arms embraced me, still twirling. His voice spoke to my soul, "I am the Lord your God who heals you. I am love." Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. Joy filled me with strength until I was whole. I broke the silence with singing and dancing, full of unconditional love.
It was at that precise moment, the walls of glass crashed in crystal shimmers at my feet. He was still with me. And we ran, dancing arm in arm through Daffodil fields.
Desperate to find relief, I chanted prayers of forgiveness. Tears rained down on my white knuckles. I was wringing my hands. Thunder boomed like the blare of Daddy's voice, "Be sure! Be sure! Be very sure!"
Unable to bear the anguish of not knowing "how to be sure", I fell to my knees, face down against the hard wood floor of the church, hands pulling my hair from my scalp. "Help! Save me! Have mercy! Release me from this hell!" all came in blood-curdling screams from my throat, through tears and agony. My body shook violently. My stomach gave up its contents. My face swelled from the strain of bitter tears.
The images of my promiscuity after sexual abuse burned the sockets of my eyes. Pleasure and pain fused together. I was unable to distinguish where one ended and the other began.
Another clap of thunder caused me to lurch forward. Wind whirled swiftly around me. I was lifted to a higher level of awareness. Before coming to my senses in the glass case, a whisper in the wind said, "I have not given you the spirit of fear, but power, love and a sound mind."
The valley of torment was deep. But the grace of God was deeper still. As quickly as it had awakened my senses, the nightmare ended. My eyelids, like butterfly wings, fluttered until I was able to focus. I saw that the forest of twisted trees had been pulled up by their roots and were laying on the ground outside the glass case. The scaffolding was gone. A new strength coursed through the muscle of my legs and I stood tall to look as far as I could. Daffodils bloomed illuminating the sky beyond the horizon. The sun was so bright, I squinted.
'Power, love and a sound mind', I thought, 'Freedom from fear, embracing love, illuminating love, this is what I want.' I held my arms straight out at my sides, palms pressing against the glass. Feet positioned in the sand, with all my might, I began pressing to break through. When I realized my efforts were in vain, I kicked the glass walls with my heels, looking for tiny fractures. Hours must have passed. Weak and angry, I sat in a heap and sulked. I didn't understand. How could I go through life, in this hell, survive to see beauty beyond the glass, only to remain encased and alone? I heard the humming sound again. This time with words. "His banner over me is love."
An orchestra like none I had ever heard, angelic voices, creating music, rushed into the case. I couldn't help myself. I had to dance. Her voice rose above the others, with a crescendo, repeating words I had read somewhere before. "The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love, he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."
I found myself twirling on one leg, arms straight out, face to the sky, drinking in this amazing love. I was dancing with God! Alone, just God and me, dancing. Laughter flowed freely, vibrating the glass walls and it was my laughter. He had made me glad.
Invisible arms embraced me, still twirling. His voice spoke to my soul, "I am the Lord your God who heals you. I am love." Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. Joy filled me with strength until I was whole. I broke the silence with singing and dancing, full of unconditional love.
It was at that precise moment, the walls of glass crashed in crystal shimmers at my feet. He was still with me. And we ran, dancing arm in arm through Daffodil fields.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Breaking Through Part 1 - practicing writing my memoir
My eyes had glazed over. I was unable to perceive anything realistically. By all standards I had been rocked to sleep in the cradle of misery. So, when the first beam of the laser cut through the gnarled shrine and cased glass, my senses were numbed to it's feeling. Although, my heart heard the light glowing on my skin before my eyes focused. The hum of a flute-like tune, maybe someone running a moist finger around the rim of a wine glass was more like it. At first, it was a solo pitch.
Next my eyes fixated on the iridescent glow, catching the second tone, harmonic to the first. Fearful it was black magic, I closed my eyes tightly. But my ears began to inhale the third, then fourth voices of harmony, all blending with the first. Never changing keys, always the same C natural pitch, until my nose tickled from the weird vibration in my mouth. Lips sealed, I realized I had joined the sound, adding my own voice to the tune of unconditional love. The process of transformation began to unfold. Everything that happened after that was equivalent to a volcanic eruption. The birth pangs of a new life began.
I felt shackles on my hands crumble to the base of the glass case. Then a flood of memories unfolded in a puddle, running through my mind, my heart, to my ankles. While all were connected by a common thread, the span of their existence started at the beginning of my human life and carried through to the present.
As the medallion began to glow brighter, creating a greater sense of fear, a high-pitched scream erupted from my navel. Eyes wide shut, I could not erase the vision of tiny hands beating the door to be set free of a dark place I was locked in at three years old. The vibration of the laser soared above the scream setting me free of that prison and I realized I did not like me because I must have been bad to be locked up.
Next a river of salt water poured from my eyes when I remembered not being included in most circles of friends in school. An older, still child-like voice pleaded loudly. Like me! Love me! Once again, raising an octave higher, the laser chanted unconditional love in the same key, quickly showing me, fear of rejection had kept me from liking me - loving me.
By this time the cinder blocks on my ankles and feet were melted into fine sand. I began to move my feet. I could actually feel the splendor of the sand, cooling between my toes. My arms, freed of chains, wrapped tightly around my chest. I was hugging that child who so desperately needed my love.
A burst of pain shot through the core of my womb. I heard a guttural scream ripping my throat as I watched my young body molested, raped, left bruised, bleeding, and sore. Somewhere deeper inside, the laser penetrated my core, cauterizing those wounds to the tune of unconditional love. It was complete when I could see my soul alive and glowing. Basking in a pool of calmness, I rested my body against the glass and heard the words through the harmonic tones, "It wasn't personal. They can't touch your soul."
Slowly, I slid down the glass wall, wrapping my arms around my knees, allowing my naked human form to be saturated in showers of mercy. Faintly, I heard a voice through the beam of the laser, "Nothing can separate you from my love."
. . . to be continued.
Next my eyes fixated on the iridescent glow, catching the second tone, harmonic to the first. Fearful it was black magic, I closed my eyes tightly. But my ears began to inhale the third, then fourth voices of harmony, all blending with the first. Never changing keys, always the same C natural pitch, until my nose tickled from the weird vibration in my mouth. Lips sealed, I realized I had joined the sound, adding my own voice to the tune of unconditional love. The process of transformation began to unfold. Everything that happened after that was equivalent to a volcanic eruption. The birth pangs of a new life began.
I felt shackles on my hands crumble to the base of the glass case. Then a flood of memories unfolded in a puddle, running through my mind, my heart, to my ankles. While all were connected by a common thread, the span of their existence started at the beginning of my human life and carried through to the present.
As the medallion began to glow brighter, creating a greater sense of fear, a high-pitched scream erupted from my navel. Eyes wide shut, I could not erase the vision of tiny hands beating the door to be set free of a dark place I was locked in at three years old. The vibration of the laser soared above the scream setting me free of that prison and I realized I did not like me because I must have been bad to be locked up.
Next a river of salt water poured from my eyes when I remembered not being included in most circles of friends in school. An older, still child-like voice pleaded loudly. Like me! Love me! Once again, raising an octave higher, the laser chanted unconditional love in the same key, quickly showing me, fear of rejection had kept me from liking me - loving me.
By this time the cinder blocks on my ankles and feet were melted into fine sand. I began to move my feet. I could actually feel the splendor of the sand, cooling between my toes. My arms, freed of chains, wrapped tightly around my chest. I was hugging that child who so desperately needed my love.
A burst of pain shot through the core of my womb. I heard a guttural scream ripping my throat as I watched my young body molested, raped, left bruised, bleeding, and sore. Somewhere deeper inside, the laser penetrated my core, cauterizing those wounds to the tune of unconditional love. It was complete when I could see my soul alive and glowing. Basking in a pool of calmness, I rested my body against the glass and heard the words through the harmonic tones, "It wasn't personal. They can't touch your soul."
Slowly, I slid down the glass wall, wrapping my arms around my knees, allowing my naked human form to be saturated in showers of mercy. Faintly, I heard a voice through the beam of the laser, "Nothing can separate you from my love."
. . . to be continued.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
What Is The Price of Freedom? ......practicing my memoir writing
I live in a pretty, glass case. The case itself is much like a trophy case for a baseball, only big enough for a human adult. The creation of the case was no easy task. Glass must endure seering heat if it is to be moulded a certain way.
The idea of my case originated from a deep desire to keep me safe. It was designed to ward off evil and harm. It is safe to say the foundation began out of love. However, it was quickly mixed with the paralysing cement of fear. Of course, no one realised that at the time.
By the time I was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, which "normally" may mean adhering to The Ten Commandments, many more "wrongs" we're added, obscuring my view of "rights". The fear dried stiffly around my ankles, holding a permanent place for me to live in fear. The scaffolding razed to bring about glass walls became a forest of trees with voices. Their constant shouting, "No!". "Don't"! "Beware"! Drowned out the music.
Since construction sites are left unattended during rest times, there is an opportunity for trespassing. I was the unfinished art in the glass, vandalised before the case was sealed. The true breath of life was snuffed out before it reached my lips. Decisions were made for me. My place in his world was set in stone.
To an outsider, what should have looked like the perfectly moulded figurine took on the appearance of twisted limbs, scarred emotions with a medallion of fear, hanging about my neck. Frightened of scorching my soul to ashes, I remained exhaustively still for many years.
One day, love broke through the atmosphere in laser-like rays, penetrating first my mind, then my heart. By now, my creators were deceased. No one but me could choose what happened next.
Cinder blocks around my ankles melted like wax, in the presence of unconditional love. A balm-like salve was applied to the rest of me. This was painful at first. I was terrified! The medallion even glowed bright as a burning ember, nearly blinding me. Then, as if water were thrown over a flame, the medallion turned black, cooling to dead-cold metal before discentigrating from my neck.
I had not realised how it weighed me down until it was gone. I had not acknowledged how the paralytic cinder blocks of fear had immobilised me, kept me from dancing to the beat of my own drum. I was bemused, unable to hear the music any longer, unable to sing my heart song.
Pure love exonerated me. So here I stand, inside my glass case. To burst through the glass means I take responsibility for myself, my life. It may mean the foundation I have stood in was more of a prison than a protection. It may mean my parents weren't always right. That would mean the light that illuminated the rules for the many "wrongs" was just the glow from the medallion.
To break free, just the thought, takes the oxygen from the air, yet invigorates my petrified limbs to come alive and dance.
The idea of my case originated from a deep desire to keep me safe. It was designed to ward off evil and harm. It is safe to say the foundation began out of love. However, it was quickly mixed with the paralysing cement of fear. Of course, no one realised that at the time.
By the time I was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, which "normally" may mean adhering to The Ten Commandments, many more "wrongs" we're added, obscuring my view of "rights". The fear dried stiffly around my ankles, holding a permanent place for me to live in fear. The scaffolding razed to bring about glass walls became a forest of trees with voices. Their constant shouting, "No!". "Don't"! "Beware"! Drowned out the music.
Since construction sites are left unattended during rest times, there is an opportunity for trespassing. I was the unfinished art in the glass, vandalised before the case was sealed. The true breath of life was snuffed out before it reached my lips. Decisions were made for me. My place in his world was set in stone.
To an outsider, what should have looked like the perfectly moulded figurine took on the appearance of twisted limbs, scarred emotions with a medallion of fear, hanging about my neck. Frightened of scorching my soul to ashes, I remained exhaustively still for many years.
One day, love broke through the atmosphere in laser-like rays, penetrating first my mind, then my heart. By now, my creators were deceased. No one but me could choose what happened next.
Cinder blocks around my ankles melted like wax, in the presence of unconditional love. A balm-like salve was applied to the rest of me. This was painful at first. I was terrified! The medallion even glowed bright as a burning ember, nearly blinding me. Then, as if water were thrown over a flame, the medallion turned black, cooling to dead-cold metal before discentigrating from my neck.
I had not realised how it weighed me down until it was gone. I had not acknowledged how the paralytic cinder blocks of fear had immobilised me, kept me from dancing to the beat of my own drum. I was bemused, unable to hear the music any longer, unable to sing my heart song.
Pure love exonerated me. So here I stand, inside my glass case. To burst through the glass means I take responsibility for myself, my life. It may mean the foundation I have stood in was more of a prison than a protection. It may mean my parents weren't always right. That would mean the light that illuminated the rules for the many "wrongs" was just the glow from the medallion.
To break free, just the thought, takes the oxygen from the air, yet invigorates my petrified limbs to come alive and dance.
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