The skill of my hands, or is it the skill of my heart, is insufficient to simultaneously tear down one wall so carefully and furtively built after, what is it now - three decades, and build yet another? The life I build is subject to forces over which even the most carefully crafted artifice has no enduring power. What I am bears little resemblance to what society is prepared to accept much less to conceptualize in any meaningful way. Were they able to do so would preclude the disparagement that we, as petty creatures, routinely indulge in order to assuage our souls against the degree to which each of us is so uniquely and terribly alone.
While my hands toil on they ask, “why do we build your wall, and why are there such ragged gaps between what we demolish and what we build?” You break out only to build the courses behind you? What we build seems to me less like a foundation and more like a demising wall. Walling off who you were from who you are, while all at once failing to realize that who you are awaits the placement of steel and stone and the mortar to set the new wall in place unmoved and unmovable . . .
Renee Thomas © 2010 – All Rights Reserved
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