Big Blocks of . . . Thoughrniture

27 05 2011

A dark stuffy room. I try to make my way, to find a way, a path, a place, big enough to put one foot and then the other, moving forward, between and around the big blocks. They’re large and dark, mostly brown, some black, some dark blue. They’re piled up high, delicately balanced, on a brink. I must be very careful. As my inconsequential hands reach to rearrange or move one piece out of the way, I may clumsily cause a high pile to collapse, over my head. I am worried. There is not enough time. Or light. Or direction. This corner first? Or that? This piece. No, that.

I need to go through these blocks, one by one. They’re mountainous: too big for me to handle alone. Every one of these pieces of thoughrniture needs to be sorted out, put upright, in its proper niche, discussed, analyzed, resolved and settled. But . . . they are so big and I am so small. And so is the room. It’s not like I can move them around leisurely in this too-small room to rearrange. They’re piled up vertically! So, sighing, I timidly attempt to take more steps forward, careful not to offset, upset or offend the blocks. For I am not prepared for them, should they decide to charge at me.

Oh, there’s a piece that came here about a month ago. It was shining and brand new back then. Now it’s all dusty and at the bottom of the pile. I’d like to take that out and put it upright, at least. But first, I have to get through all those pieces above it. I look the other way.

Some blocks of thoughrniture are heavier than others, with backbreaking potential:

“Blissful Un-/dis-/mis-reality (where there are never any dishes to be done)”

“My Unreal World of Words”

“That idea for a short short story, slowly fading away.”

“Shudder-inducing grayness”

“Need to find a whip to lash at that vicious, brutal, sadistic inner castigator, an automatic timed whip that goes off around . . . every 5 seconds. Silence.”

Rearranging will have to wait, until my muscles and inconsequential hands are stronger, just a bit. Maybe tomorrow. Insha’Allah.

For now, I continue to venture, taking tiny unambitious steps, some forward, many backward. Some days I have a friendly hand holding mine and a kind voice in the dark stuffy room, telling me, “Leave that one for later,” or “Hey, that’s not too big for you; you can take it on. You can do it!” or “I believe in you!” or the one that unfailingly thrusts me ten steps forward, “I am here with you.” Other days, I am in there, alone, intimidated, shriveled up in a corner, looking – in awe – at my big pieces of thoughrniture, all courtesy of my clever mind.




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