july 31st 2011

When you suppress an urge, it will end up coming out eventually.  Press down too hard and it will pop right back up – much messier than you’d like. 

More than 1 of you are suppressing an urge.  You are suppressing the urge to write, eat, travel, break the fragile china of silence.

You hold on as long as you can but china’s heavy.  You hold on as long as you can because you have been told that, that that camera’s worth more than you are.  You have been told that you must stand there and hold those plates, those cups while your accusers smile at you and encourage you to keep it up all while they keep piling on that stuff hoping for a bigger boom, a messier splash when it crashes.  You were told to drop the pile before it was a pile.

Before that first plate had potential to become the foundation for a wobbling mess, you were told to drop it.  Silence is fragile but oh so hard to break.  I hear your thoughts but I also hear the thoughts of those next to you, sitting shoulder to shoulder. 

I’ve given you a filter.

I’ve given you the gift of thought- of relative silence.

The silence will be broken.

Either you can drop it into the refiner I have provided, where I break it for the purpose of creating a master mosaic – one that spans centuries, fills the whole wall of human history, floor to ceiling – or you can sweep the shattered pieces off the floor, wipe the blood from your legs, and limp to my refiner to offer the pieces as a scarifice – just as valuable to My mosaic but oh so much harder.

Eventually you will get stronger.  You are becoming stronger. 

Enduring your taunters as they add plate after plate after cup after spoon of things you must not break makes you stronger but honey – did you realize that I see, I recognize that you cannot move without dropping it all over the floor.  Some of you recognize My plan and think its too late.  You see the others accepting a plate, or two, or three and then walking over to My refiner and dropping it.  You see them laugh.

You see the others carrying a load too heavy.  You tell your own taunters to stop, aware that another plate or two will topple your stack, aware that your stack is taller than that child’s stack and if she cried when the china fell, shattering into her legs, bare from the skirt she once twirled in, then yours would sting – not only you, but that child sitting next to you, unaware, still twirling.

You see and you feel stuck, but do you not see the carts – the people racing from one to another – the team who’s mission it is to find those who have called them and get out and take the load off – 1 cup at a time.  Once they hear you – you must call them – once they empty your hands by placing the whole plates, into their cart, they give you a ride and ask you to break them into My refiner.

Do you not see that each who has found My refiner is asked to take a shift and show it to others?

Lift their load – they have to drop it, but you can transplant it, right by My side.

Show them My plan.  Point out that the workers are few and the loads are heavy.

Lifting them makes you even stronger than carrying, than holding them.