i have been in my box, i was there during the month of ramadan, and got deeper into the well during the weeks that followed. i pray, that i have finally got enough energy to tunnel out and that me and my belly button are ready to come out of the cave and get some fresh air. i needed this, the cave, the hole, the well, the box, like i need the air i breathe.
although i sometimes shake my head in disbelief about how much drama some people need in their lives, when i take a good look deep down, i am no different. coming to terms with this does not feel wonderful, and the feelings that tend to take me by the guts are harrowingly discomforting. it is anxiety, it is fear, or sometimes it is plain cowardice, and it is all mine. it is not without reluctance that i have began to own up to this.
i was warned by very loving people around me that it might be this way. every single one of them was right, and i did not believe any of it. i am indeed fortunate to have these very loving people around, and when, like last wednesday, one of them needed something from me, i was glad to give it my all. in giving it my all, i got more back than i gave, and that is the miracle of all of this. i wanted to write about last wednesday, but i was stunned. i am slow, and i only can comprehend through my physical body. i have to experience it down to the marrow of my bones. those who would like to see me as the intellectual, mean well, and need new glasses. my ego would love it if i was the intellectual, it could then have a feast at commanding the show. alas, i am not that intellectual.
here is to you:
in a silver box lined with gold
there is a precious treasure
a treasure that you can not see
a treasure that you can not touch
a treasure that you can not taste
a treasure that you can not smell
a treasure that you not feel
listen to yourself.
