Free to Create

I sat there on the couch, watching my world crumble into shambles. Everything I had known was falling apart around me. Calls didn’t come back in. Texts weren’t returned. Love seemed to float away from me like the ashes of a bonfire drift up and away into oblivion.

And yet, in the midst of the flames, a castle was taking shape before me. I had never seen anything like what took form in my mind as I read the pages. I had never dreamed it had been possible. I had felt it. I had known it. But it had never taken form. Never been tangible enough to dream that it could be built. Never been clear enough to imagine that it was real.

But there, as I read, it stood before me. After the week of flames. Through the flames arose the sure and sturdy castle. It was real. It was tangible. It was possible. It would be mine. It would be ours. I would build it. And it would be ours.

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The book I had read.

The joy I had found.

The love out of the ashes.

The castle…

Not in the sky, but in my own town.

Close by.

I could drive there.

Twice a week.

Three times.

Five times a week.

I could get in my car and drive to my place. I could look in the rearview mirror and see my happy little humans. I could park and let them get out. Their smiles returned. Other smiles lit up. I was surrounded. Surrounded by love. Surrounded by joy. Surrounded by freedom. We were in our castle.

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It was like a dream. But every day, I would wake up, and get in my car and drive to it, just like I used to drive to my 9-5. And this time, my little humans were with me. I didn’t have to leave them to help them. I didn’t have to set them aside to focus on them. I didn’t have to go away from them to make them the center of my life. In this dream, THEY were the dream. And the dream was awake.

I slowly gathered my things from the car and followed them in. They were always the ones who beat me to the door. The chatter of their laughter preceded me. Babbling together while they waited for me to fumble the keys and unlock the door to their happiness. They stood about, waiting for me, but knowing, they waited for no one. They were masters of their own castles. This castle of mine, it was just a shell. It was nothing more than a simple case for the magic that each one of them held. Their magic was their own. They needed no key to unlock it. Theirs was the magic of freedom.

I’d gotten to live bits of this freedom when I was like them. I’d had more than most. But this. This was different. For me, that freedom was based on containment. That freedom was earned by imprisonment. That freedom was not freely given, but it was bought. Bought by my time. Bought by my goodness. Bought by my strain. Theirs though. Theirs was truly free. Theirs was none but their own. Theirs was free for the taking. All they had to do was walk into it. Stand in their freedom and walk up to those doors. Let someone else unlock the door and move into their magic. Theirs. Was free.

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The soft roll of laughter surrounded me. It came from one room as they chattered quietly about their lives to the snipping of their freedom. Before their joy something more took shape. It rose up out of their ease. It was soft and gentle. No one held any ruler of standard up before them. No one spoke words of how their creation “should” be. No. Their inspiration sat before them in the center of the table. It was different today than it had been before. And yet, it was the same. More of the same. For it was freedom.

It sat there inert. Looking beautiful. Looking finished. Cut up and put back together. Large made small and then small made large. Tiny snips here and tiny snips there. Each cut with the care that every art is made with. The splash of stitching across the snippets, gently drawing them back together with care.

And then there was what they were working on. Their snips were unpracticed. Their cuts were crooked. Their little hands were not adept at their task. And yet, there before our eyes, their little castles took shape. A little ornament today. A necklace tomorrow. A skirt for their doll and then for themselves. They matched and they didn’t. They snipped and they didn’t. They pushed and they pulled and they stretched and they clattered.

And out of all the chaos… every day… out would arise their castle. Their castle of freedom. Their creation which no one measured. Their skirt which they would shorten. Their necklace which they would adorn. Their quilt which would be the center of their pillow case which would be the leg of their pajamas which would be the sail of their boat which would be the cloth for their table. Set with jewels of glitter. Painted with brushes gone dry. Stained with spots of red from little hands dipped in Takis and soaked in their laugher that pealed through the castle while they dared each other to eat more.

Theirs was freedom unmatched. Theirs was freedom supported. Theirs was freedom which was not earned and was not taken away. They were the ones. They were the ones who created. They were the ones who would continue to create. They were the ones who, spending years knowing that their castles had value, that Taki dust just made the quilt, that was pillow case, that was pajamas, that was boat sail, that was cloth for their table… all that much more beautiful. Theirs was the truth. Create what you will. It has value. Create what creates itself. It may be different from what you imagined but it can have life. Or, you can take its life. You can cut it back up and use it for other life. Theirs was the truth. Everything is in your own hands. To use. To care for. To mold. To shape. Theirs was the truth of these castles we all build. Theirs was the truth. Life is here for us. It is ours. To enjoy. To love. To reshape. But most of all to know, you are free to do with it, exactly, whatever, however, whenever… You are free to do with it whatever your castle requires.

You are free. Free to make it in any form, in any color, in any love or in any joy. And on some days, your castle may crumble. As mine did that day on the couch. But, whether crumbled or standing, your castle is your own. From the rubble, you are free to create. You can take the pieces and turn them into joy. You can pick them up one by one and fashion them back to life. Theirs was the truth that is lost on so many of us. Theirs was the truth.

YOU are the creator.