In a box?
There are no doors. Don’t see any windows.
There is light, where is that coming from? Is the light coming from within?
The space is all around, it is so close. The air is thick.
I am confined, I scratch at the walls. Does the lack of space concern me? What is outside this space? The space is familiar, but uncomfortable.
I sit down, I am tired. Am I tired from scratching?
I am not comfortable, the slumber is not peaceful.
I stand again, I scratch. My fingertips bleed. I look at my fingertips, I weep. Again there is slumber.
There is still light, hope. I stand, I move, keep moving.
The space is closing in. I scratch again. Ouch. Scratching hurts.
What is outside? There is that darn light.
I am the light, the life. Jesus! The Holy Spirit is with me, has hold of me.
I am small, I grow. Where am I? Don’t let go. I am fresh, I am new. I am old, I am.
An Evening at the California Living Museum
5 years ago