I received a letter today from a friend, with it a poem created from an experience long ago. Anger, sadness, depression, suicide poured onto the page by her hand and I thought, “Is this the price to pay by those who feel?” Perhaps better, easier anyway, to walk that dark hallway one last time; close the door behind you. Let no one in. Touch not, and you can’t be hurt.
It is a Way, but there is a price to pay for this also. The walls hide anger, the doors shield pain, but love also is kept waiting at the stoop. The heart that cannot be hurt cannot be loved.
And so I decided some time ago to take down the walls, brick by brick, dismantle the locks, and open the doors. Trembling with fear I walked naked into the world for the first time in a great many years. My sword and shield lay in abandon, the armor in a heap on the floor of my forgotten prison. At first I felt alone, abandoned, and terrified at being seen without the masks we’re all supposed to wear, but I found the monsters I feared to be but shadows on the wall.
Slowly, with child‑like steps I began to explore this new world. It seemed somehow transformed, but I realized that only my eyes had changed. We create what we see, and I began to choose Life. Love embraced me and Caring guided my steps. Happiness held my hand and caught me when I fell.
The path is not always easy. Anger, Sorrow, Hatred still live on the edges of my view, but I can choose not to see them. Every moment is created, and Choice holds the pen, awaiting transcription.
This is also a Way, and the price to pay is Love. The account is never emptied . . .
(Dedicated to my sister, Liz)