I am sitting here in my now non-productive office space. A space that was once alive with possibilities – mine and others; a space where courage was spawned and old wounds were healed through the telling of stories. I was a Mental Health Counselor. There are no more stories.
Today, I am here to sell the contents of this space. Each item is marked with a price tag. I am no longer selling hope. I am selling the archives of my past. There were few takers of the archives of my past. I scan each chair in my space, each article, each corner for memories that will fill up my void. For without the memories, the archives are only clumsy, awkward paper weights trapping the real treasures beneath them.
I sit perched on my couch, in a corner of my space, as if in a nest protecting my young. I feel the emptiness of this space. I feel its contents recede. I feel like a mother bird sending her young into the freedom of the sky.
My head is spinning with the memories of those who came here to further develop themselves. I am in awe of their bravery. They, too, have felt this weight from ‘the in between’ where the air is so thick that you gasp for breath and struggle for the insight to see some unworldly truth. And, yet it is in this dark, foreboding space of blindness and shallow breathing that we find our true strenth.
Each space in our lives is empty until we chose to fill it with deliberate choices. The movement and freedom of choice gives wings to the body to move out of the weighty fog of emptiness that permeates ‘the in between’. Yet, there are times when we must pause, we must hold still in this space of emptiness. There are times when choices are no longer possible. I no longer have a choice about my health or my ability to work.
I look forward to moving out of ‘the in between’ and into the glorious place of choice.