As I write this, I remember the story of a man who remains imprisoned despite holding in his hands the very key that could open the gates and set him free. Ironic, isn't it? To have the means and to know the way and yet remain idle, immobile, impotent and in the dark. Unable to just simply twist the key, open the door and walk out free, without the weight of anything burdening the head and the heart.
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The days have been difficult recently. If it was the tussle between the proverbial wolves that dominated the show until now, it seems that the wolves were pushed into the background, and a new player has revealed itself. I would call it the empty. Except it is all but empty. I think it's more like the giant carpet under which we push stuff into. It's the junkyard and vault of our psyche. It's that one place that is cleverly kept hidden from our sights and often even from our memory. But once the empty is awakened, then it slowly begins to churn and rot. The whole sky gets dark by the dust and smoke. The vision gets blurry, and slowly it's blindfolded that now even the brightest of colours appear dull and lifeless. Then toxins begin to seep into the body. The senses now work against themselves. And this goes on until the empty consume everything.
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But I am not writing this here, now, to speak of the empty or its horrors. I write this because I want to remember the light that I saw when I was in a dark place, helpless and tired like the man with the key. Because I want to thank those specks of light that gave me the spark to push myself up again. This is about the incarnations of God who came to me today. This is about the children. Here is my prayer of gratitude to them for their kindness, compassion, innocence, lessons and love. Their presence helped clear the dark sky and loosen the blindfold, helping me see the key that I hold firm in my hands. Reminding me of the possibility of opening the door and walking out. All that's left for me to do is to find the courage and muster the strength to let life and love flow freely and happen as it's supposed to at their own pace and time. To let the bulwarks crumble under the gentle nudge of compassion and to let the toxins drain away with a little patience and a touch of kindness. And to become a child and to tell me, it's okay...
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Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you...
You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
- The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran
