The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

Photo by Sean824/iStock / Getty Images
Photo by Sean824/iStock / Getty Images

 

2/17/14

 6:09AM

 

For the first time since the birth of my Sandbox I no longer feel the need to write authenticity. I no longer have to remind myself to be authentic, a warning, a message to the universe that I’m trying to hard to make sure I didn’t make any of this up, that whatever I say it true to my heart, true to my Parts. I no longer doubt myself. I wake up to the the ugliness and darkness that stole my life away from me. 

I have always been fascinated with individuals who have been falsely accused of crimes and who have served twenty, thirty years, nearly their entire lives in prison only to be released one morning, into the world, like a caged bird finally set free to fly into the sunshine. What are these moments like?

How does it feel to have been given your life back, to walk out into the world like a child taking her first steps? How does this feel, as you wobble and stumble and squint in the sunlight, knowing that you’re not a child, that the world has moved on and that although this day is now yours that the decades that came before it were somehow stolen from you? How does it feel to step out into the world like a child knowing that this same world is the world that allowed your imprisonment to begin with?

How do those first breaths feel if you can even feel them? How does the sun feel on your face? Would rain, somehow, be easier, a better introduction, an easier way to transition?

How do you forgive the world for what it did? Is your release in and of itself enough to make you want to forgive? After fighting so hard to remember, the fight that shakes you awake and to take flight, finally, free, can you now ask yourself to somehow forget, forgive, move on?

Not Gods, why did you allow this to happen? How could you? I accept that my child’s mind took me somewhere and I consider that I may or may not find those places. I accept that I now have Parts, that I dissociated long ago and again to this day not because I chose to but because this is what human beings do to survive.  

I do not think I’ve felt worse, Monkey. 

I know. I am right here with you—back then and here now. I am wrapping my long strong monkey arms around you—more than once, more than twice. 

I dream, so vividly last night, I am with a woman. She and I tumble towards my father’s closet, his ties hanging off the rack that hung from the door, how they appear to me moving with my child’s breath as I stare down the late afternoon sunlight. 

 

I’m so sorry. 

 

 

Why Monkey? Why us?

 

Because we’re special. That’s why the Not Gods spared us. 

 

Not true, Monkey. Everyone is special. Kirsten was special and she was taken. 

 

But you’re telling.  Maybe we were spared to tell. 

 

Tell what?

 

To tell the world how a little kid survives. In our own words. 

 

Maybe. 

 

You will tell, won’t you? 

 

I don’t know Monkey. Isn’t this what we’ve been doing? 

 

We are special. We are Truth. 

 

How did we survive it?

 

Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination. Take a look and you’ll see into your imagination. 

 

This prison is all I’ve known. 

 

If you want to view paradise simply look around and view it. Anything you want to do it. Want to change the world there’s nothing to it. 

 

I’m not a child, Monkey. 

 

No, but I am. I’m your gift. We all are. You lost your childhood but you got us. 

 

It hurts so much I can’t see the words.

 

I’ll be your words when you can’t find them. 

 

Why Monkey? Why? How did this happen to me?

 

Because that’s what people do. People live and people die and people hurt other people sometimes so bad that most of their lives are lost to them. But I vow to make you that angel from Montgomery and to hold you when the storms are too much. We can’t get what we needed then but we are here to give us what we need now. 

 

And what do we need now?

 

E says I am to get you to rest. We need to find a resting spot for our worn spirit.