Sometimes I miss the days when life fit neatly inside a bite-sized cardboard box.
It's not that my life ever did,
but other people said it should,
and I automatically assumed that, since
people said it should,
then, without question, it absolutely
would...
I let myself be bound by fear and uncertainty, not wanting to risk getting the formula wrong.
I looked to them...
teeny kitchen tables, tiny wooden drawers...
a dollhouse of mystery, a foundation of sand.
And when there comes shaking, that which is unstable inevitably crumbles.
And what is scary is that, in searching, I am not afraid of offending God
I am only afraid of offending them...
they who purport to have so many answers.
Who never question, who never make mistakes.
A mythical communion of people...made up of thousands and millions of blurred out shaded faces.
Where will I be if I go where this is leading?
I can see it on the horizon, quietly beckoning.
I can see it...but I'm afraid to move forward.
Moving forward would mean turning my back on what I
believed must be
Inherently safe.
And if I leave, that faceless multitude might then decide to judge me.
Though, of course, that probably would never really happen. I don't think....
But what of the others who have faced cries of heresy?
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