We lock them in a backroom, a closet, a castle, a basement, somewhere we won't have to look. Still they are near, right here in this place. We don't look. We look away. That is the place where we put things we fear.
Hope is good. We hope.
We hope, if we do . . . if we do, that we won't know feelings that might have hurt us some then ago.
We put them in this place, right here in this place. It's like erasing them,. No, not erasing them. It's like banishing, vanishing, making them disappear from a faint-hearted view. Too big, they are. Too powerful for the small one we are here. We are small right here in this place.
Like potatoes, they lie in the dark, dampness waiting to make them uglier, swell them with stuff that wasn't what was ever there. Suddenly if we visit them, they are bigger than, bigger then.
We are bigger too. Yet that doesn't come to us. We shrink instead at the thought of revisiting the cellar, the dungeon, the cupbard where we left our fear from our view.
Oh, oh, what if we stopped at a mirror and looked in? Say we say that we're more now than we were then, right there then. Standing taller we could think on our smaller self and say, "Not to worry, not to shrink back. I'm here, I'll steer that ugly thing away from us, all swelled up I'll make sure it cannot touch you or me. It will not do what it did once a long time ago."
Opening the windows, the doorways, we let the light in.
We hope. Hope is good.
We hold our breath, let in the light, and walk to the place where we hid what we most feared.
Oh, oh, the light has banished it, vanished it. It has disappeared.
On the air that blows through is a word,
Always we held in our reach. We always held right here.
It was locked up right here in this place too.
--me strauss Letting me be