Nothing Inside

by Diane Sprague

It is an enormous task to create something when actually nothing is there. We can gather clutter and glue it to the starkly bare bones in hopes that finally, someday it will be enough, but it will not. No, that will only create a clumsy mess, and harsh winds are always blowing that can undo the strongest glue. We could try distraction, get the attention focused on something flashy and glaring in the vicinity, but that only leads to a loneliness when we realize it was never who we are because we left ourselves in the shadows. No one ever looks at us in the despised darkness. We could try ignoring our dilemma and hope that others will choose to do so also. It is usually a safe assumption that they will. A lingering nagging inside will be there to remind us that we are just ignoring, just pretending, just wishing. It's easy to push that aside, for awhile, but not forever, because the permanency of our attempts is continually threatened by the ever-present reality of the harsh bare bones of the nothingness of who we are.

Letting go of the notion that something was supposed to be there is difficult, especially when confronted with our desires for relationships. What do we give each other? Are we to expect that our empty insides are sufficient? What do we say when asked that terrifying question, "Who are you?" It can leave one in a startling and frightening state of despair.

Unless we see the answer. Dry bare bones, large empty spaces, and enormous wells of silence are beautiful. They are full of mystery. There are no definitions, rules, and requirements. It's whatever we want ourselves to be. The freedom is unimaginable when we let it go, when we stop pretending, when we reach out with strange realization that there is truly nothing inside and a remarkable choice to be whatever we want.