What if I didn’t sit nestled between my bookbag and purse and coat—because I didn’t have them? What if we didn’t have possessions at all, not for poverty but because we didn’t believe in them? Because we didn’t care for them? We didn’t care to lug wallets or coats around? Don’t get this wrong: I love words and music and have great desires to have them in my hands, hanging from my shoulders, dangling from my elbows.
But do you sometimes long to break free from the security of your stuff? Do you sometimes wish to be ripped away from your money, your major, your identifying clothes, just to see, peek, if there’s anything left? To prove that there is?
Can any of us stand alone? I heave a great sigh and wonder, what help do I need to get out of my nest of bag, purse, and coat? We fear that sweet love will flee our sides, leave our lips chapped and hearts thirsty for sharing, soul kind.
But really, can I afford to cradle myself in crap? Can I afford to hide behind my metallic curtains, scarf, earbuds, kitchen bar with papers strewn…?