It’s astonishing when you discover you’re much lighter than you’d thought.
Maybe not on a scale. That might still say that your gravitational pull is too strong according to the charts the scientists have plotted.
That’s okay. That’s not what we’re talking about, anyway.
We’re talking about the strange cloak you wear. The heavy one you never take off, that you’ve been adding material to all your life. That drags on the ground, making a rasping sound as you pull it along. The one with the hem getting thicker and thicker with mud.
It’s knocked over so many things, and you never even noticed! The end table, the small, coppery chair with the embroidered cushion, the bookshelf in the hallway. It’s tripped people, tangling in their feet. There’s a path of destruction in your wake.
The amazing thing is that you can’t even tell that it’s there anymore. You’ve gotten so used to the slouch of your shoulders and the plodding rhythm of your steps. You think this is how you stand, how you move. You think the blobby shape of your shadow is the shape of your self.
Of course, you’re not alone. Everyone seems to dress in these things, which is why you put yours on in the first place. To fit in. And even though it’s cumbersome, there’s a certain security to be found in always wearing a disguise.
That’s okay.
But if the time ever comes when you start to wonder, or if you catch your fingers plucking the fastenings at your throat and pulling at the fringes in discomfort, you should know that, yes, it’s only a cloak. It can be taken off.
You can take it off.
You can stop hiding yourself.
So we can finally see you.
So you can be seen.
design + surrender 