The silence is like a vacuum that sucks the joy from my being. The longer I lay in silence, in darkness, the faster I sink into my bed. Through my bed. Through the floor. Spinning down and away. I want to open my eyes to make it stop, but it's cathartic. If it stops I have to reckon with the reality of the darkness that is causing my despair.
Then silence is interrupted. My fall is broken though I try to will myself back into it. It is not a sound. It is not light. It is a thought. A whisper. It penetrates through the walls of the self-constructed and self-destructive cage of pity into which I was throwing myself.
What it says is true. I don't want to believe it. It's too good to be true. Is it? Or is it too good for me? Am I to broken to listen? It would require me to let go of the cage and risk exposure. Risk hurt. But the despair is crushing. It's not crushing me today, but it will tomorrow. Maybe the day after. With a good night's sleep it will be gone. But it will soon return for it's victim and it will not relent.
So I open my eyes. I let myself out of the cage. I face the reality. I heard the whisper and I claim it as mine. This is the truth that I needed to hear. Will I remember it tomorrow? In an hour? I don't know, but maybe. I can do 'maybe'. Someday it will turn to yes, but until then...
Created: Mar 30, 2014udelorotha Document Media