The words brought fear to my heart. Not the way violent words, like kill or murder, tear apart my body. These words bring my personal phobia in clear view, publically. The words represent numbers, which for some reason my mind understands differently than most people. Decimal points, sequences, sixes and nines, are more like a Picasso painting than a balanced equation. As the numbers were called out, I froze, as though I was expected to understand a foreign language.
I do understand a different language, based on words associated with change and transition. I am aware of the uncomfort, the resistance, to the need to be brutally honest, to comprehend this language. Words like should, never, always, blame, are discouraged since they have the potential to take what is beautiful and twist it into something ugly and unwanted. Earlier in the week I listened to someone struggling with advocating for her child yet not wanting to upset anyone. “I hear you want the best for your child, and that you do not want to hurt or upset anyone. You are just being honest about what is the best for your child at this time.” She was relieved. “This will open the way for something even better for everyone involved” I said, appreciating her ability to take a risk.
The builders took their time calling out numbers for me, measurements for boards for a roof. My future roof. The numbers were easy for them. They waited patiently as I looked at the saw, back at the numbers I wrote out, then at the tape measure, once, twice, even three times. I wanted to get this right. I wanted to let go of my fear. After all, the language I know is compatible with this language. I want this house, my future home, to know the care, patience, and generosity that is expressed with each action involved in building. More than the physical measurements will be different in this house than houses from my past. I want the words that inspire transition to be a threshold welcoming opportunity.
wildwordsartist.com 