Open the little tote I keep hidden in my soul. It is shoved to the back behind the important bill-paying, money-making, responsible-citizen tote. It is the tote with the colors of the galaxies splashed across its hidden but conspicuous lid.
Open the tote.
Crazy wants to come out and stay.
She wants to color the world with rhymes and rhythms and the depths of spectrum that she alone sees.
Open the tote. She has so much to say. Poetry and beauty; prose, and the loveliness in small things.
Incongruity. She sees incongruity and can not fathom the universe of humanity.
Crazy cannot come out of her tote.
At the core of who I am I hear her singing of her solitude and a tear escapes from my heart as she is confined to the very center of my soul. She listens to Pachelbel and she reminds me, of who I am in the universe. I am one who wants to appreciate the mysteries of God; to hear the rocks cry out and the trees clap their hands. I am one who wants the simplicity of a humble heart and a spirit of kindness. Crazy tells me this. I believe.
I must not listen to her. It is unacceptable.
She is lost to me.
I do however, keep her glorious tote hidden as proof that I have seen her, and I know her. We both cry at the refrain: “open the tote,” but it cannot be.
The unwritten joys will stay unwritten. The melancholy melodies must flow from another. I have banished her for the good of self and sanity.
I do still hear the flutter in my heart. The flutter of wind through a green glade. I am happy. I hear Her still.
I must push her back to her place of inconspicuousness. She does not mind, she has the Master of the Universe as her maker and King. It is to Him she weeps. He gathers the dreams in her dormant state and promises her wings and depth of understanding on the day the tote is presented to Him; on the day He opens the tote.
He will open the tote splashed with the colors of the galaxies. He will delight in the unorthodox way she sees and praises and lives. May He not question our strange union but bless us both with renewed vision, compassion, and hopeful hearts.
We are thankful for those who are labeled ‘a bit odd,’ those who seek unexpected experiences, in place of the mundane. We desire to encourage those who are unusual and unaccepted. The social castoffs, what if they have a tote!?
Perhaps we are different together? Perhaps we are souls who bear a special bond, a forever gift we offer each other. The knowledge of ‘Unique’ living in the center of our souls… a gift to our God…
our glorious tote containing our socially unacceptable selves.
Open the tote.
