Rebuilding

Sitting at the chair again, he knows that there is nothing in his eyes. He could never force it. It had to be there waiting for him or he simply couldn’t use it. The only avenue left to him is the one that takes him back to the places that scare him most. Knowing what he must do, he begins the process once again. It’s not that there is nothing new, but that something old is screaming to get I\out. Until he allows that escape, creating isn’t an option.

Sitting still, he takes a breath and closes his eyes. Without moving in his seat, he turns inside his mind to see what is within. Trepidation is his guide, knowing what he may find there. He wonders what it is that so desperately is crying for release.

The adjustment complete, he approaches the hallway in his mind that leads to the chamber of his memories. The path is dark, well hidden from those who may search his eyes for a vision he just can’t let them see. He covers it with laughter, smiles, and tries with all he has to keep these things just where they are. Safe. Until moments like this one, where the choice is made.

He finds the open area. Sitting in the lighted room is a strongbox. He approaches and pulls up the lid, looking inside for a clue to his peace. Inside are the keepsakes, the keys to the memories that only visit him in his dreams and at times like these. These moments when the sound is too much to ignore. The cry of exposure is always so deafening. Mementos of things gone by are what he finds. Like dog-eared pages of a book, reminders of places left behind. The box seems so small to carry so much. But, then again, how much space does one man’s mysteries need?

The smell of fear, anger, and disappointment rises from the box. He knows that this will not be a pleasant excursion. Sometimes, the calling to this place is for the release of some pleasant memory that has been forgotten, but needed at the time to remind him of what he is capable of. Those moments bring him joy. They tell him that not all of the bricks in his life are as misshaped and ill-fitting as others. Those trips to this place tell him, when he needs it most, that the foundation that he has built his life on is strong, that it’s true, and that it comes from the better part of what he carries inside. It is what he tries so very hard to rely on in moments of indecision and doubt. Those pieces that tell him that he knows what happiness is and he can enjoy it, if only he will allow himself the opportunity.

But, within that foundation are the bricks that aren’t so perfect. The chipped and damaged. He is wary of them. Some buried so deep within the construction of his life that he hasn’t been able to recognize them, not quite forgotten them, but turned away from them. They rest inside the mortar, causing imperfections that allow the cracks that try so hard to cause his collapse. He knows that in creating this place in his mind, that he has placed those building blocks as perfectly as he could. He has put them together, with strenuous effort, like a jigsaw puzzle, each nook fitting into the cutout of the next. Doing his best to make it all seem seamless. Knowing that without care, the edges will show. And the bricks will begin to show wear.

As always, the calling piece sits right on top. What is below is waiting for their day, not ready to come to light. Not ready for even he to see them completely. They will have their day. Their moment of need. This is not that time. The image that is calling is one of hands, holding on at the wrists, just hands. Many hands. And in the center is the word “trust”.

A basic foundation to any relationship is trust. Without it, there is no counting on anyone for anything. Without it, everything crumbles. He would like to believe that the issue of trust is an individual one. It is not. As he looks at the image, one of the hands slowly raises a finger, then two. Something is happening to the circle. This sign of trust broken is causing a ripple effect within the order of things. The word in the center, the printing, fades just a bit. He notices that other hands, along the perimeter of the first, are now doing similar things. They are pulling away from the center, ever so slightly. And the word, it fades more.

He realizes that the movements are not only times where the trust in him by someone has failed, but also the reverse. He is seeing the effect that one moment of mistrust can have on every relationship within the circle he has created. And it saddens him. He knows that these movements are not deliberate. They are subtle, noticeable only by those closest to the situation. And even then, they can be so soft to only cause a stir. The damage will come later, as the movement increases that the grips begin to let go.

Trust is a lot like love. The hardest to survive are those times of trust that have been built over time. Parents to child is a good example. As a child, he trusted blindly to those he believed would never do anything to harm him. That trust made him blind, having him believe that moments of pain were of his own doing, he was the cause. Looking back, he knows this not to be the case. But, the inability to question the trust makes it hard, even now, to accept the truth. And in this, he sees the beginning of the imperfections. The first unsteady pieces to the foundation. They surround his core. They are the first pieces that he sees when, in his mind’s eye, he stares out through the cracks. Like filters on a camera lens, it is what colors all that he sees.

He realizes that these initial imperfections in his structure are what orchestrated the creation of all the others. He knows that if not for these moments of heartbreak realization, those others may never have held such a prominent place in who he has become. The bricks that have been laid since, right up to this very day, have all been born of the original promise broken. The promise of unconditional love from parent to child. The bond that, God said, should and could never be broken. Although he never can believe that God would lie to him, he knows in his heart that He may have been mistaken.

As he studies the picture again, there is something happening that he isn’t sure what to make of. Although the inner connections of hands seem to have created a clean and broken beyond repair situation, those hands that follow outward seem to be reaching back. As if to try and regain, or even prove themselves. Is it possible that the influence of the early separation has caused him to see mistrust when it was never really there? And more importantly, is this image trying to tell him that it is repairable?

Something vibrates within the box. He lowers the image and looks back into the gathering of his life and sees, resting just on top, where it wasn’t before, a perfectly formed brick, a hammer, and a trowel. The tool used to smooth out the mortar is sitting in a mortar pan. The message is clear. It’s time to rebuild the foundation. What seemed to be an impossible task, suddenly seems like the only answer.

This will be careful work. Not to be done with reckless abandon. There are good brick there. Relationships that have held the test of time, no matter how long or short the time may be. Those are the keepers. Those are the new starting points for the rebuilding of his core. He pulls away the cracked and broken bricks and throws them into the vortex of time. No use risking them mixing in and hiding within the good group to try and re-infect the structure. They not only need to be thrown away, they need to disappear. He reaches the core and sees himself exposed for the first time in a very long time. He senses the fear within himself. The uncertainty. He tries so very hard to give himself the sense that all will be okay, if they can only trust each other…one in the same…enough to put it all back together again.

But, a change is needed. There was something missing from the creation that was here before. He needs to figure out what that is before he continues. He sits with himself for a very long time. Trying very hard to dig deep within the frightened id that looks back at him from inside the framing. It’s the eyes that tell him.

As he starts again, to rebuild, the plans have changed. He follows the plans as they should be laid out, but as he reaches a certain point, a gap is made. He spaces it out just big enough to allow others inside. He places it in just the right place that the part of him that resides in the core can see out. If you can see what is coming, there is no reason to be unprepared. And if you are prepared, it doesn’t seem so scary. As he gets to the last of the bricks, he realizes the strength that this is creating. He glances back at the image of the hands, to see those that were on the outer edges have now reached over and taken the place of the ones that have let go. The word is not only fully visible, but it seems to vibrate with life. He turns back to see a few more bricks have dropped since he last look. The process is showing that not only is it good, but it is growing. It is feeding itself.

With the last brick laid, the mortar still drying, he places the image back into the strongbox. He closes the lid and pushes the box back into the corner. Safe and sound, hidden for another day…another enlightening. For now, this trip has finished it’s journey and the lesson has been learned.

Just has he steps to find his way back, he looks one last time at what he has created. A few bricks have fallen. New trusts are being made or recognized. And, what occurs fills his heart with hope.

The locked away part of himself reaches out the door with an unsteady hand and grasps the first brick. The tools await. He is building on his own. And this time, he can see the places these bricks are coming from and he can see their true nature. His selections will be better. And, with this his foundation will continue to get stronger.

Returning back to the place of now, he sits for a moment and wipes the tears from his face. The tingling in the back of his neck tells him what he needs to do now. It’s time to express. The veil has been lifted from his eyes and he can see the message.

Faith and trust is the building blocks to every part of are life. Without them, we are building with faulty materials that will eventually collapse on us, leaving us bruised, broken and exposed. Although the inability to trust may not be something we created within ourselves, to let that poison continue to hurt us is our own fault. We have to take the trowel in one hand and the hammer in the other and rebuild the foundation upon which we rest the very heart of who we are. Most importantly, understand that there should never be a roof. We should always be able to see towards heaven. Because that is the only place for blind trust. The doorway we have created will keep us aware and remove the fear of the unknown. And, by doing that, we will do our best to make sure that the imperfect materials are never used again. Because, we are too important for imperfect. We are too precious for the damaged and the chipped.

And now, my daily mission of discovery is done. I will be back when the box calls again.