A Flick of the Switch
There are many ways to describe the action itself. Some people call it “building the wall” for one. It is that feeling of separation we evoke within ourselves to create distance between ourselves and a source of emotional pain. Personally for many years, and reasons, it has the feeling of making a two handed grab onto a knife switch with a hundred million volts coursing through it – straining with every grain of heart, will, and spirit to break it lose from the line and shut off the rushing flow. The trembling others see is from this inner battle, gripping that handle means opening myself to the rawness, the pulsing and throbbing wound of passion, love, hate, and hurt as well. Flick is an understated descriptive, but if anyone wanted to be exposed to the cold and callous result of that switch having to be used? I’m just fine with them believing it was just that easy. My life is an endless hallway lined from floor to ceiling with switches of different sizes
Behind me there are switches still showing a light burning, while some flicker and others have gone dim and cold. Ahead of me stretches those which are representative of choices yet made as to allow how much of what part of me to flow. Turning those switches on can be just as hard as turning them off.