Dusting Off The Pages

It's been over a year since my last post here.

It isn't that I haven't wanted or tried to write, but the words that would appear on this screen made me angry with myself whenever I tried. And so I would walk away, make myself a cup of tea, try to start again and just get frustrated.

So a year went by.

In the year that passed, I re-found affirmation and lost faith in myself and my vocation again just as quickly.
I re-found faith in the institution that housed my childhood idealisms and watched that institution shatter all over again.
I re-found hope in community and slowly stepped away as what was real about community slowly shook off my idealisms again

And I sat in silence.
I wanted to speak, but the words would not come.

So a year went by.

In the year that passed, I watched as bombs fell on the just and the unjust.
I read headlines as the issue of homelessness in our city gained increasing awareness.
I watched as voices on both sides of the spectrum of everything that has to do with "equality" or sexism or racism or some other -ism argued their perspectives on what was good for humanity.

And I sat in silence.
I wanted to say Yes, and Amen, but my fear of backlash made me too uneasy.

And so I sat in silence.
And I sat in silence.

So a year went by.

Compassion fatigue had reached a new low.
I had become afraid that even if I were to speak out about something I believed in, someone was going to pick up on that article or that personality or that cause, and point out all its flaws and inadequacies.

And so I sat in silence.
And I sat in silence.

So a year went by.

And I sat in silence for so long that I became ashamed.
Whatever happened to the zeal and passion to change the world that was once burning a holy flame?
When did it die, and how did I not notice it?

And so I sat in silence.
And I hung my head in shame.
And I sat in silence.

So a year went by.

And then I stumbled upon a box of matches the other day.
I put it away in the drawers because it was cluttering up the room.
But I kept going back to the drawer and picking it up.

The problem was, I liked playing with fire way too much to keep the box in the drawer.
And so I picked it up and struck one of the matches.

And I realised my desire to set the world on fire to make change had died
But the spark
The spark would never go away.

And I went and put on another pot of hot chocolate
One cup of hot chocolate at a time.

It isn't that I no longer believe in the power of words.
But it isn't my ikigai to set the world aflame through words alone.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.
And if that cup of hot chocolate is to mean friendship, then I celebrate.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.
And if that cup of hot chocolate is to mean solidarity, then I celebrate.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.
And if that cup of hot chocolate is to mean believing in another's ability to change the world, then I celebrate.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.
And if that cup of hot chocolate is to mean sitting in silence without it being disconcerting, then I celebrate.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.

This isn't just the turn of a page, but a whole new book.

One cup of hot chocolate at a time.