The Box

I live in a bubble. A box made out of glass. The door is not locked. But I am scared of setting foot into the World. I press my forehead against the transparent wall and watch life from inside. I crave it – the feeling of liberty – but the warmth and embrace of the box keeps me safe. Why would I ever open the door? What is this outside world people are raving about, only to come crawling back when they discover they are walking on knives?
Fools trying to live out through the hurt, pretending to learn when they are only repeating the offence – the offence of constantly trying to build a Utopian freedom and happiness, only to learn what despair and hurt feel like.
But the hurt finds ways to sneak into the box. It comes from inside of me. I contaminate the box. I take the hurt wherever I go. My thoughts and my ego are the poison chiseling off the border of my sanity, leaving fumes in my steps for others to breathe and disappear into darkness.
I am responsible for the atmosphere of the box, for the air I breathe wherever I go and will leave behind for others to live or die from. My thoughts are either carbon dioxide or oxygen. Death or life. I need to decide which one I will breathe in and which one I will breathe out.
The box never existed. I am responsible for my place in the World and my connection to others. My negative thoughts can infect their atmosphere as easily as mine.
The box never existed and now I know: I have always been surrounded and linked to others. I am responsible for the hurt the “fools” might experience. I have a responsibility to the positive energy they should receive instead.
The offence never existed. We are all moving toward a happiness that will keep us free and our thoughts are the only tools capable of granting us that.
The box never existed. My mind created it.

~ Val.

(photo credit: Christopher See Hoye)