Prologue:
What do you do when you can't figure out people and their motives? What do you do when their conversations are manipulative, or at best, strange? If you're like me; you write a letter to “Nowhere.”
“Nowhere”: a place where thoughts can go and dissolve into particles of energy that mesh with the rest of the universe... and hopefully will not bounce back and bite me in the saddle.
• I do not look lightly at the self-serving attitude that stands at the door waiting to take me in. Humility bids me to continue my journey without judgment, lest I enter the door and not come out. And sometimes I fail and have to write a second letter to “Nowhere.”
Dear “Nowhere”, and to the person who would rob me of my joy:
I wanted to do a special thing. A special project allowing me pleasure to use my abundance of time that becoming disabled had shared with me.
I would write. I worked hard toward my goal and utilized patience to watch it grow. Feeling an immense joy and a good tiredness, I set about adding other things to keep the project going. Maybe I could photograph some of my paintings and use them to accompany my writings?
• I thought I was impervious to complications, ugly remarks, and judgments from people.
Then I got a phone call from a relative; her advice was sharp. Keep in mind that she “called” me; I did not call her! She concluded that my focus of “having abundant time” was like a person “exhibiting an abundance of self-worth.” She pounded one more nail before I excused myself from the phone: “You and your project are insignificant; time is relevant and you are wasting it on this foolish project.”
Having left a time period where time was dead for me, I could not fathom why the robber defined my project as insignificant and foolish? Maybe she’d never heard of the pair of shoes I was forced to wear? Those shoes were uncomfortable; I made the change to walk barefooted.
• I didn’t need to re-do it all over again; but I wanted to be able to close my eyes and remember it. Remember the passion of sitting down and writing a song, or creating charcoal and black conte sketches on the finest papers I could afford! If no one wanted me to exist on this earth, this beautiful earth, then why put me here?!
My joy came from the fact that I was busy, and having daily goals to meet and people wanted what I was doing; a very big surprise! Living became inventing and the foundation I had as a child was still there, moving to the surface to re-teach me. Get past the heat, get past the desires, get past the enablers, and hold hands with the disabled who will reach out to those who need healing too. Just because we look whole, doesn't mean we are whole.
Epilogue:
There are many projects that we do and never expect anyone else to give them a thought. We do them for the sheer joy of doing and sharing. We exist and hopefully our special activities give lessons to anyone who is ready to hear.
• I do not look lightly at the self-serving attitude that would exclaim: "Look at what I'm doing, but rather: look at the higher power who has given me wings to fly.” Humility bids me continue my journey, without judgment, exclaiming… time is HIS.
