No Box

There is no box, not for me.

You try to place me in one.  You see something about me, and you say, Oh, this is how I feel, and this is how I see the world, and this is what challenges me, and this is what I desire.  But you don’t know me.

To me, I see you sitting there in your own box.  It colors your world as you look through its windows.  You say you want out, with one arm you fight to get out, but with the other arm you just as firmly fight to keep your box, to stay within its walls.

This is no box for me.

Sometimes I’ve tried to build a box for me.  I’ve said This is this and that is that, and this is where I live.  Whenever I think I’ve made a nice, safe box, something comes along and destroys it.

So there is no box for me.

It’s okay.  Without my box, I can feel the grass and see the stars.  I can see everybody else’s box, and sometimes I can crawl into a box and share its space for a while, share the piece of me that fits in that box.

It’s not my box, though. I’ll always leave.  If I don’t, I’ll be pushed out anyway.

Some boxes are nice and friendly.  They always seem to have room for one more, and they don’t seem to mind if its been a while since I visited.  Sometimes I wish I could carry one of these boxes along with me in my travels.  Sometimes I’ll make a friend in one of these boxes, and they’ll travel to other boxes with me for a while, but never for long.  The journey is my own path.

Some boxes are not so nice.  They look nice on the outside.  They have very nice decorations, hookups to all the great utilities, like a mansion or at least a really nice condo.  When I stick my head inside, though, I find security checkpoints and proctors, constant observation and monitoring.  There’s a mold you have to fit to get through the door, and once inside everyone is constantly examined to make sure they are complying.  Anybody different is ejected.  Sometimes I am nicely escorted out by the proctors.  Sometimes the mob turns on me and chases me away.

I don’t like those boxes.  They are not for me.

There is no box for me.  I am outside the boxes.  They are nice to look at and sometimes to visit, but there is no box for me.

Published by solinox

I am a Wiccan priestess, a libertarian mother of triplets plus three, a wife and homeschooling mom to blind and autistic children, a fiber artist, and a Jane of All Trades, always learning and seeking to help.

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