She lived in that pretty little house, a long time ago when she was young and had the whole world sitting in a glass jar she held on her lap. One day, she was startled by some noise and the glass jar slipped and fell, breaking into a million pieces of jagged snowflakes. Her world, contained as it was in the glass jar, fell too, and all those who populated her royal kingdom lay either dead or dying in the deadly carpet of glass.
She watched the tiny, tiny driblets of red as they slowly spread on the carpet of glass shards. She listened intently for any sound that meant some of those from her kingdom still lived. Hearing none, she carefully sifted through the sharp glass with the point of her shoe, gingerly at first, then with more urgency when it slowly became clear that no one in the world she held so tightly in her lap had lived.
She screamed. Long and loud and with such a keening noise that her voice travelled to the depths of the ocean and bounced back up to the far reaches of sky and space. Her screaming began at noon and stopped only when it was time for dinner -- of the following day.
I wish to let go of the world that no longer makes me happy. I had thought for a time it was all I needed but now, as I go farther on my journey, I realize there is more to life than hanging onto a broken glass bowl and keening over shattered dreams.
New lives can be created, dead dreams nourishment for new ones.
(The little story above is something I wrote a few months ago during an afternoon when nothing much was happening. I wrote this rather spontaneously, and the words came almost instantly leaping from mind to pen to paper. I had always wondered what it was about and why i wrote it -- until today.)
