The young man walked in torn shattered robes. He wore no sandals or shoes to protect his feet. The sun blazed on his skin as he walked aimlessly to his next destination. He didn’t know where he was going, what he was going to do. So far nothing had worked. His life was still unfolding in ways he didn’t know or understand. His robes once bright and colorful now were drained of color. They seemed to lead him on his journey. They went with him everywhere as he refused to remove them or mend the broken threads.
The young man had visions, nightmares, and so to forget them he drank and drugged to cloud the pictures that came into his mind even in the daylight. He tired and sat on a hill overlooking the canyon. There he tried to rest his aching bones, and in the silence he reclaimed memories of his younger years. The abuse replayed itself over and over in his mind.. He looked at the sun setting and cried tears that dripped down his face on to his robes. He screamed and yelled hoping the echoes in his mind would be released over the expanse before him.
A whisper came back to him. “Scissors” the Whisper said. “It is scissors you need.”
He tried to ignore the Whisper and place it behind him as he turned his back to the canyon.
“Scissors!” the Whisper called- this time in a deeper tone.
“What the f?” the young man thought aloud.
“Take the scissors and cut the robe.”
Now the young man answered the voice that was starting to bellow out of the Whisper. “What the hell are you talking, man?”
A warm breeze brushed against his face. “We all wear a robe of textures and patterns. It should keep moving and changing, but in yours I see no movement, no change other than becoming more tattered. Our robes are our protection, but only if we keep changing the pattern and the pieces over time. In yours I see nothing new. It’s worn, stagnant with colors that have faded over time. It is becoming thin, and less protective of you, but yet you do nothing about it.”
The young man looked down at his robe. He couldn’t change what he had always known. The Whisper was asking too much. How could he let go of something that once protected him? To change it would mean he would have to change himself and who the person he identified himself to be.
Again, the Whisper spoke to the man. “The robe no longer fits you. It is the robe of your past and only a symbol of how you see yourself. You are not the abuse. You need not wear it like a shield to keep all good things from your life. Take the scissors. Cut out the bad parts and be done with them. They are of the past and you are of the present. Make your present light.”
The man picked up the scissors. His hands shook as he began to cut. He held the tattered piece in his hand. He wiped the tears streaming down his face.
“Now, the Whisper said, ‘ let it fly to the wind. Release it, and when you do, a new piece will come in its place. You have only to dream it; see it as a possibility of beauty and happiness ready to piece together your life.”
The young man did as he was told. As he cut away the old, he felt light, free.
“Now, look at the hem. Sometimes we trip in its hem and it throws us back, but other times we trip forward. The trip forward pushes us towards something better or different than we are used to. You hem is still sewn. It has stayed in one piece never moving forward or backward. You can decide what you do with it. You have the choice. You are the wearer. It doesn’t wear you, just like the abuse doesn’t wear you or define you.”
The young man was beginning to understand. The scissors cut and cut out the old, and were replaced with new textures and colors. He was ready to move forward.
The Whisper said, “Very good. Remember the past no longer exists. Only now, the present is where you are. You have released the past. Now you can move forward, one minute at a time, one step at a time, one lovely day at a time. You have choices to make. Make your choices shine like the sun on your face. Keep changing your robe when life gives you tattered pieces. Don’t hold on it so tight that you can’t trip on the hem.”