Confession

Time was missing. Lost. And I had no interest in forming a search party to go track it down and bring it back.

Sunworshipping was my newfound delight. Beaming down warmth and love on my marble skin. The water joined in praise as it clapped on the shore by me to the tune of the gulls’ calls.

Dangerously, thinking crept in. Perhaps it was due to the rare condition of having nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Before now, back when I was time’s prisoner – I was a whirlwind on the clock and never could get it all done in time and would try again tomorrow and the next day after that.

I didn’t have time to think by design. I didn’t want to look back at my missteps and the consequences that followed. I didn’t want to wonder where the faded footprints used to be.

Thoughts are not always kind. Mine were my cranky grandfather who had more grandchildren than he had the capacity to love. My coach who was only doing this for his daughter. My pastor who demanded perfection. My friends who never missed an opportunity to stab me in the back and baptize me in saltwater. Worst of all my own fears and insecurities.

“Your worst enemy cannot harm you as much as your own unguarded thoughts.” – Budda

Thinking got me into the worst fix. It was also my savior – though it took over a decade to free me.

No one tells kids that just by being in someone’s life, your actions ripple forever. That beyond sticks and stones, words are an assassin’s dagger laced with eternal poison. One with no known antidote.

No one teaches them that we mold each other like play-doh. That our bodies remember being beaten after the bruises heal. The sting of being smashed into metal lockers never fades.

Hate without reason or temperance. Unrelenting. Without mercy.

Living in that isn’t life. Existence is biding your time until things change. Enduring.

I once learned of a time when storms raged for days. Families changed their lives. They covered windows and doors in a futile effort to keep the outside from coming in as the winds knocked on their houses. Enduring.

Hate’s storm waxes and wanes – and we all experience it’s rage as we plunge into it’s fury to seek the eye.

Peace bids us draw near and promises us hope. It is enough.

Time has found it’s way back to me. Maybe I will fear it less even though I know it will be my murderer. It’s only fair – I killed it first.