The Room I Called Peace
I had been arranging flowers over a locked door, calling the room peaceful. Whenever something stirred beneath it, I brought another lesson, another vase. How beautifully I understood the hands that hurt me. How quietly I asked my own to stop trembling. Then, one evening, something ordinary made me laugh. I laughed until the water shook, until a flower slipped, until the door could no longer hold. Out came the anger with its bitten tongue. The grief, still wearing the clothes of that day. The small, furious voice: But it should not have happened. For once, I did not ask it what it had come to teach me. I sat on the floor. I let the flowers fall. And somewhere between the last sob and the breath that followed, I felt a presence I could only call divine. Nothing was explained. There was room beside me, and I let my sorrow sit. ——————————————— My qualm with the lesson is how quickly I let it speak over the hurt. Catharsis came when laughter made room for t...
