|Hope (is a well)|
From my Hold on Hope series, 2011 (in progress)
I've often heard speakers begin their presentations with stories about how naive they used to be. They may describe earlier foibles and wrong-thinking with the amused affection of a parent, creating an illusion of vulnerability while actually only revealing what they have already resolved and, clearly, moved beyond. It's a fine tactic and I'm sure expresses their honest experience while establishing both rapport and context for their messages.
I imagine myself one day, many years from now, giving a speech like that; indulging, perhaps, a little self-congratulation at having finally dispelled the mire that overtakes me every time I think I've outrun it. Maybe I will describe this dry, cracked soul that begs for a hopespring while I moisten it with tears and spit and sometimes blood. Will I tell the audience how I clawed at that hard clay, stones grating my knuckles red, my fingernails broken and caked, because I didn't know what a shovel looked like? Will I say how I blamed the sky for not raining? Oh yes, of course I will. I will smile at my foolishness, hold up a shovel as a prop. All will be moved. I will stand before the people and know that I fulfill my purpose each day. I will shine with enlightenment, courage and love.
A girl can hope.