The Liberation of Me.

Via on Jul 27, 2012

From the glass door I watch.

The lightning crashes and thunder roars all around while I stand protected by this thin piece of fired sand.

I want to step out into the darkness, to feel nature’s fury and take a chance that this life is not yet done with me. I want to leave this place where I feel secure and protected to venture the wild unknown—to get that sense of freedom and knowing that I’m alive.

The voice calls and beckons me to step outside. A bolt sears through the sky illuminating what cannot be seen in the darkness. I can see the highlights of the trees in front of this door as the thunder asks for my answer. I raise my hand to the glass and can see the outline of my hand reflected as if a part of me is outside trying to get in. Is the other me frightened? It the other me asking me to protect him? Or is he asking me to come with him, to venture into the great unknown where the only certainty is uncertainty?

Whichever, I stand alone looking at myself in the glass unsure of the steps I’m about to take. I am here, now…not there, then. The reflection of the self I see disappears with each flash of light as the self I wish to be beckons, knowing that whether I’m here or there I am seeking that call of the wild I have heard since the day I was born.

I look around in my box, this place I have built for myself that somehow feels safe.

As the storm rages out there I see the beginnings of truth.

This box is painful. Each piece of timber laid, each window set, each nail driven a testament to pain. In pain I sought relief—I sought security and I built this place to give me a sense of that. Yet, in a storm such as this we begin to see that each piece of timber, each nail and each shard of broken glass is a weapon against us in the winds of time.

Each link of the chain we wrap around ourselves becomes a testament to a lie, and we begin to strangle the very thing we want to be. We weigh ourselves down with a false sense of everything, never knowing what we are because of the boxes and chains we have forced ourselves into.

I cannot play in the rain if I’m chained to this place. I cannot see the stars with this roof blocking my view. I cannot see the world from the summit of a mountain if I keep myself locked behind these doors.

Somehow the wind, rain, lightning and thunder don’t seem as dangerous as this place that’s giving me the illusion of peace and safety. Dying free is better than living under the burden of these things. I want to be free and enjoy this lightness of being. I want to dance in her arms with the rain drenching us. I want to hear her song in the wind, feel her power in the natural state we are in. I need to break free if I’m ever going to get those things I want the most—those things I see when my mind is still and my heart is open. I need to shatter the glass door so the storm can envelope all of this. So that I can never return here.

I pick up the hammer I have used so many times before in building this place. It brings back memories I don’t wish to have. I stare at it, wondering where I ever found such a tool, and can’t remember when I ever picked it up. I don’t want it anymore. It needs to be lost in the storm. I look around and smile. I can’t wait to be free of this place and walking into the unknown. I walk up to the door. I feel a sense of trepidation and relief mixed together in this moment. Soon I will be without shelter. Or will it be the sky is my roof? I chuckle at the thought, somehow knowing…

I believe I will have to dodge the wreckage of my illusions, the debris of my mind as it is consumed by out there.

I look up, seeing the other me slowly raise the hammer with a look of fear in his eyes and determination in his grip. He hurls the hammer both toward me and away from me at the same time. I hear the sounds of glass shattering along with the rush of wind and crack of thunder. One of us ceases to be in that moment of great liberation. I am free as the orange tinted clouds betray the dawning of a new day on the horizon. I cry, I laugh, and I dance…

I am born.

Editor: Lynn Hasselberger

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About Tom Grasso

Tom Grasso is a seeker, pathological meditator, a veteran firefighter and rescue tech, a poet, a blogger (new site), and aspiring writer. More importantly, he is a father of three (meaning he is also a lecturer, teacher, chef, order taker, taxi driver, coach, mentor and aspirin addict) and has found great joy in sharing his life experience to the benefit of others. A disciple of Ruiz' "The Four Agreements", Tom works diligently to prosper through guidelines that have transformed his life even before he knew they existed outside of his own experience. You can follow Tom on Twitter and on Facebook. Don't forget to like his "blog page" at Tom Grasso, Writer on Facebook.

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9 Responses to “The Liberation of Me.”

  1. …..”I want to dance in her arms with the rain drenching us. I want to hear her song in the wind, feel her power in the natural state we are in”

    Yes! Beauty, Thank you

  2. Mamaste says:

    Just intro'd on FB to: Main Page.
    ~Mamaste

  3. Tom, this is a brilliant and vivid story that so many people experience as they are in their process of waking up. Beautiful, just beautiful.

    Thank you for sharing this with us. I am reposting on my Facebook page and would like to publish this on my website, http://www.holisticdiva.com as I am working on inspirational and transformational messages. Please let me know.

    Namaste,

    Casey

  4. cathy says:

    wow, heart-building and compelling.. I am sure this will motivate and encourage many.

  5. I have no real idea abojut what this blog is wahaha

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