The Caller

This statue spoke to me when I came across it. Welcome to my exploration into what it was saying.

Someone deep inside sends plea after plea. 

She’s in a grey cage and wants to be free. 

But day after day, I keep her at bay

Each mindless moment seeps the grey moments away. 

The fun and the laughter flee from this place.

I’m trapped here, tethered by the grey tasks I create. 

No wind in my hair or sun on my face.

All this grey is too much. And not nearly enough. 

Is it too late to bring back the color?

Leave the grey task hydra behind. 

Can I release that caged caller?

Or will she always step out of line?

She’ll come with tears and with fears

But without her, the years are just years. 

Now is the time to give permission to feel. 

No more grey nothingness. It’s okay to be real. 

So I start building her wings, feather by feather. 

They’ll be beautiful things, made to enjoy any weather. 

She’ll use them to climb and to dive,

And bask in the sun. She’ll feel so alive. 

It’s an arduous task, taking longer and longer

But it’s making me stronger and stronger. 

That caller keeps calling, 

pleading to escape the free falling. 

Until one day I stop, gasp, and stare. 

“Those wings are far more than just wings” I declare. 

They sparkle and dazzle, with blues, reds, and greens.

It’s time for a test flight to see how strong she’ll need to be. 

So I strap them on tight and push off the ground. 

It’s not easy — the wind’s all around.

The sun warms my face, back, and feet. 

I soar with the birds, climb, dive, and weave. 

The problems feel small here, with space to breathe, watch, and flutter. 

I pause in the stillness and feel something stutter

And suddenly see what it was I had missed 

from the ground, while focused on list after list. 

The world is much larger, filled with joy, love, and pain. 

Deep sadness and darkness, beauty and shame. 

With eyes open wider, I’m able to see:

That caller is actually the colorful me.

The me who sees people and wants to reach out.

The me who finds wonder each day all around.

The me who has ups and downs on the way.

The me who without, makes every day grey.

The love in my heart bursts through those great chains,

And with it the tears I no longer restrain. 

She waited each day for me to get out of the way.

She nudged and she whispered, yelled and then screamed. 

In one quiet moment, the world just shifted.

As I drift down to Earth, the darkness is lifted.

For life is no longer all about me. 

This new power is how it feels to be free. 

If today were a song

Get Up, Get On by Jill Andrews