“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” – Marianne Williamson
A small boy looks, quietly alone,
up at all the people.
Noise. Noise. And shuffling feet
and din and papers rustling,
The boy doesn’t know what the noise means
And he’s not sure what to to
and he’s not sure if he’s safe.
He doesn’t want anyone to look at him
because he doesn’t know
that he doesn’t know who he is.
He stands. Silently. Watching.
And the people, they begin to look
because he’s not moving.
Why. They whisper sideward glances
each glance infecting another.
Why. The papers begin to fall silently
to the floor, as more people
stop shuffling to look at the child.
His heart begins to race
and he may cry.
It never made sense to him
to shuffle papers
And even as he wonders if that is all there is
He knows it can’t be true
because he is alive.
And so, he begins to walk
and people are frowning,
He’s stepping on their papers
and more of them are noticing
and there are more contagious glances
and infectious whispers,
they are afraid of what he means
and for the first time he realizes,
the young boy,
that something bad could happen.
And he feels afraid
and he feels alone
The din is growing louder
The papers are becoming frantic
And it’s getting dark.
The boy swallows.
And just as he thinks he’s completely alone,
something small catches his eye,
She’s standing. Silently. Watching.
And he wonders,
the young boy,
How many more are there?