I opened my eyes on the sandy shore of the Ocean. I was not surprised to find myself here as I’ve been called on many carpets in the past twenty-four hours already. I could hear the Currents playing in the shallows. They occasionally splashed me as the tide came in.
Salt water stung my exposed chest. I looked to see a piece of glass jutting out of a wound. I pulled it out carefully so it wouldn’t shatter and examined the bloody piece. I quickly identified it as anxiety over my identity again. I sighed, rolled my eyes at my own crippling self-doubt, and threw the shard of glass into the waiting waves.
The waves took turns bashing it against the rocks (of truth) that was just under the surface. I wasn’t ashamed to be showing my weakness so neither the wound itself nor my nakedness did not bother me. I know I’ll be pulling out such splinters for the rest of my life. It is better that I go ahead and remove them when I see them, rather than smother them with denial and self-reproach.
Letting that shit fester will kill me.
The discomfort now relieved, I turned over on the cool sand, snuggled against a tide-worn rock, and slid gently into a deeper sleep.