Tanya, from the incurable dreamer, doesn’t post often, but each time she does I sit down for an amazing read. I laugh or cry or I feel understood or inspired. This is a moving piece about uncovering the beauty of the journey, even when there is pain. I hope you enjoy the read.
‘Is this thing on? HELLO. Can you guys hear me in the back?’ Whispers softly, ‘Shit, is there even anyone in the back?’
*squinting to see*
‘Okay, well, here it goes. For anyone who might still be here, this is what I have come to say.’
Out of nowhere, he appears, like a breath of air. He is poised, pressing a small dark cloth bag firmly against his chest. Without invitation, he begins to explain that inside the bag, are hundreds of tiny balls. They are highly sought-after, mystical balls. Gifts and riches – bountiful, beyond my wildest imagination – are mine, and eternal if my destiny is to pull one from the bag. Destined, he explains, because amongst them is one ball, which if picked, will bring forth afflictions of grand proportions. He steels himself, then thrusts the bag towards me. Gesturing at my arm, he demands, stick your hand inside and choose one. I tell him I don’t want to. He says the decision is not mine. I do not understand. Before me, he continues to stand, unmoving, unwavering in his request. I look around. There is no one and nothing. Only me, and only him.
The odds are in my favour, I think to myself, this is not a big deal. There are so many. What are the chances? I mean, surely. His stare is unrelenting, escape futile. It’s obvious. I must choose. Hesitantly, I reach my hand up high and place it inside the bag. My hand, now submerged in chance, begins to sift through an endless sea of balls. Fate tempts and rolls and slips between my fingers. Just one, I think, just one.
There is no distinction; only smooth similarity. Panicked, I begin to wonder how I will know. I grab hold, then just as quickly release ball after ball, convinced the right one still awaits. My eyes lock with his. Resolute and hopeful, I continue to sift. My fingers then rest on one. He senses my choice when my fingers cease to move and I grow still…
(Continue reading: like hell)