We are on a class trip. We're underground. We're in a train. We're swallowed by a tunnel. Inside the train it is as black as soot. While riding in this train—deep within the bowels of the earth—chugging toward a coal mine—a mystery occurs.
While the wheels on the cars of this train go clickety-clack along the track, it's too dark to see anything other than—nothing. Darkness blocks out any hint of the world just like—
A fearful mind darkens the transparency of hope, pacing, back and forth.
While my classmates sit, wiggling, giggling and twittering, like a flock of nervous birds on a wire, I sense movement closing in on me. Suddenly a hard body lurches against mine, and a kiss, stolen in the dark, plants itself on my face. Though that mysterious kiss surprised me decades ago, all I need do to conjure up my stunned sense of shock, right now, is close my eyes.
I mean, what guy in his right mind might long to kiss an unattractive outcast like me?
This reaction swoops in when self perception and reality do not match. Unfortunately, this solid mental block of darkness within my mind will put me down for decades to come. Thank goodness I am, presently, practiced being kind to myself; otherwise I'd call myself a blockhead, right now. Instead, I'll resurrect my self esteem by raising questions, such as these:
Who might want to kiss someone like me?
Might that someone be a guy whose heart had yet to heal after his demonstration of ardor had been soundly battered about the head?
Certainly, whomever had consciously chosen to kiss me in the dark did not hate me, through and through. As decades will pass before I perceive of Joseph pacing, hopefully rather than menacingly—back and forth—before my house, I'd truly no clue as to who'd felt the need to steal kiss #2 in the train.
At that time, while my mind had been busy putting myself down, any thought of Joseph feeling the need to plant that kiss did not make sense. Today, it's plain to see that had I mustered the courage to dry my tears, open my front door and meet Joseph half way, the picture I'd painted of myself as social outcast would have shattered as fast as transparent glass.
Joseph's 'hate' had not locked me in a tower with characters in novels as friends. The enemy, which had tied my tongue into a lump of fear, which choked my throat whenever The Leader of the Pack drew near, had threatened me from within. Today it's plain to see that the enemy, which had lumbered around, casting evil spells upon my psyche, had been named—Subconscious Insecurity.
And so, when the truth be told, today, Joseph had offered me many opportunities to hold his hand. Unfortunately, fear made me pull up my drawbridge, time and again.
Fear of what? Fear of whom? So far—only the shadow mind knows those answers, for sure ...
On the other hand—What if I'm assuming—inaccurately—again?
What if the coal-mine kisser had not been Joseph, at all ...
What if for decades I'd forgotten to remember ...
While the wheels on the cars of this train go clickety-clack along the track, it's too dark to see anything other than—nothing. Darkness blocks out any hint of the world just like—
A fearful mind darkens the transparency of hope, pacing, back and forth.
While my classmates sit, wiggling, giggling and twittering, like a flock of nervous birds on a wire, I sense movement closing in on me. Suddenly a hard body lurches against mine, and a kiss, stolen in the dark, plants itself on my face. Though that mysterious kiss surprised me decades ago, all I need do to conjure up my stunned sense of shock, right now, is close my eyes.
I mean, what guy in his right mind might long to kiss an unattractive outcast like me?
This reaction swoops in when self perception and reality do not match. Unfortunately, this solid mental block of darkness within my mind will put me down for decades to come. Thank goodness I am, presently, practiced being kind to myself; otherwise I'd call myself a blockhead, right now. Instead, I'll resurrect my self esteem by raising questions, such as these:
Who might want to kiss someone like me?
Might that someone be a guy whose heart had yet to heal after his demonstration of ardor had been soundly battered about the head?
Certainly, whomever had consciously chosen to kiss me in the dark did not hate me, through and through. As decades will pass before I perceive of Joseph pacing, hopefully rather than menacingly—back and forth—before my house, I'd truly no clue as to who'd felt the need to steal kiss #2 in the train.
At that time, while my mind had been busy putting myself down, any thought of Joseph feeling the need to plant that kiss did not make sense. Today, it's plain to see that had I mustered the courage to dry my tears, open my front door and meet Joseph half way, the picture I'd painted of myself as social outcast would have shattered as fast as transparent glass.
Joseph's 'hate' had not locked me in a tower with characters in novels as friends. The enemy, which had tied my tongue into a lump of fear, which choked my throat whenever The Leader of the Pack drew near, had threatened me from within. Today it's plain to see that the enemy, which had lumbered around, casting evil spells upon my psyche, had been named—Subconscious Insecurity.
And so, when the truth be told, today, Joseph had offered me many opportunities to hold his hand. Unfortunately, fear made me pull up my drawbridge, time and again.
Fear of what? Fear of whom? So far—only the shadow mind knows those answers, for sure ...
On the other hand—What if I'm assuming—inaccurately—again?
What if the coal-mine kisser had not been Joseph, at all ...
What if for decades I'd forgotten to remember ...
No comments:
Post a Comment