A year ago I went to a place where I died. The old me started to die on the 27 th of 2014. I let my old beliefs die. My tightly clutched resentments, preconceptions, hatreds, aloneness, and illusion of control died.
I walked into a room where I actively participated in my own death. I’ve cried and mourned that 55 year old boy who died that day for a year now, and I don’t see it stopping, ever. It has, and will get better, different, and deeper.
In that room a new boy was born. He is excited, scared, confused, joyful, reluctant, eager,and willing.
My journey today is to nurture that boy, take him by the hand, and reach out to play, and cry with others. To touch, hug, challenge, and comfort boys, and girls, just like him.
It can sometimes be a frightening, uncertain road, but it is well lit by the ones who went before me.
Far different than the dark, hollow road the other little boy travelled.
When I come across you on this road that I travel today I will remember to reach out, and maybe we can walk together for a while, or longer. You see, today I hold on to things that comfort, and challenge me. I hold onto my love of you, and it makes us holy.