Standing within a gray swirling mist as soft colors begins to filter through. A light breeze blows in with the scent of wildflowers and the mist clears.
“Well there you are! I’ve been looking for you!”
Startled, I turn toward the voice and stare. “What is this place? It feels…”
“Exactly! It feels.”
“What do you do here? In this place that feels?”
“Oh, you know, I take long walks. I watch the sun rise and set. I dance in the rain. I laugh loudly at what amuses me. With arms stretched wide, I spin in a circle because the sun shines. I randomly break into song. I drive with my windows down and the music up. I kick off my shoes and splash through puddles. I dance in my kitchen. I lay down and make shadow puppets on the ceiling and pretend I’m 8 years old again. I sit on my porch and watch the bunnies race around. I sing into the fan on a hot day, simply because I can. I read books and if it’s a good one, I fall right into the story. I talk to butterflies and all sorts of critters. I pray. I love. You don’t recognize me?”
“You look familiar.”
“Well, my dear child, I am who you have been and who you can be.”
I start to reply when a wall suddenly appears, blocking out the colors and light leaving only a swath of gray with shadows gathering at the edge.
Looking around and shivering with a sudden chill, I ask “What is this wall?”
“That’s been my question for a while now. What is this wall? Dear one, you need to take hold of your chisel and hammer and chip away at this wall. Chisel and pound until cracks form. Work at it until you can see through it, then chisel and pound some more. “
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Yes it is and will be. Walls take time to build, so it stands to reason that it will take time and effort to knock them down. It will be worth it. I promise you. “
With a sigh, I lean my head against the cold bricks, “I’ve become a professional wall builder.”
“That you are, and at times a wall may be needed, but you don’t have to build it quite so high. So my dear one, grab your chisel and hammer.”
Lifting my head and looking around, I notice a chisel and hammer lying at my feet. I bend down, pick them up and begin to tentatively tap away at the bricks in the wall. Small pieces of brick begin to form a pile at my feet as the shadows quiver and shift at the edge of the grayness. Feelings filter in.
“Keep at it dear one. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
