Another kind of freedom
I just read this beautiful piece. As one might suspect, it has me thinking.
I could tell her how much I long for security and a warm house with a separate kitchen, and yes, a bathroom, and thick white towels (this more than anything) but every time I get near any of that I throw it away, because what is required from me in return is nothing less than my soul, and I cannot surrender my soul, however cold and lonely it is at three in the morning.
I find myself wondering, do I have it in me to live in a shed? To trade what I have for her freedom? Would she “advise” me to? It seems to me that she, quite simply, has no choice. I mean, she does have a choice from the level of the mind and the rational place that society would argue is “the way things are done”. But from her heart…from her soul? No, she has no choice.
What a gift. That kind of freedom.
I don’t think it has to look the same for each of us. I wonder, in me, what would it be? What is my shed? What’s yours?