About time...

Picture taken from: "The White Room Studio"

He’s been waiting a long time. Lots of people tried to find a shortcut by finding a way to get in first and before they came to the line, with a mocking sense sometimes. ‘Everything has its own time’ he replied tolerantly, to those upset around him at the waiting line. Minutes after, those who came in mocking, came out crying drowning up in weep and shame.

‘It’s been years waiting on this line… will we ever get there?’ said the old and wise woman before him on the line. ‘Everything has its own time’ he replied again to the lady. She showed a forced sight, and watching the floor replied:

‘You might be right. But did you ever consider that this long prelude might make you feel unprepared for when the time finally reaches? I’ve been waiting for years, and thru all that I’ve tasted and maybe waisted every possible emotion you can think of. I’ve made thousand plans in my mind for when this comes, and within time, all of your illusions fade little by little … honestly I don’t know if I want this. And even worse I don’t know if my lost of interest has to do with new awareness or with lost of interest on the importance they have, be cause of this criminal wait.

The crudeness of the revelation shocked him. And he pondered about how important was that line. And if he wanted to keep in the line after watching some many smiling faces coming in, morph into terrified and bitter tears when they come out. It’s a lot of risk; a lot to think of… By the time he stared at the horizon trying to figure out if it really should stay or not, somebody tapped his shoulder. ‘It’s about time. They’re calling you by name brother. Congratulations!’

He got into this enormous and silent white room. His heart began to beat faster. The possibility of mistaking, at the dawn of the execution. He closed his eyes, to contrast the whiteness with the darkness behind his eyelids. Darkness offers comfort sometimes. ‘There is no turning back’ he whispered. He silently prayed to be able to stand firm.

- Scared? –Someone asked.
- To death – he replied
- That’s how this is. Whatever you do, you should keep it to death. –She said with a warm face, but in such strong and cold statement.
- What if this fails?
- … And what if it succeeds?
- Father, help me…
- He will…

He closed his eyes again and relied on the table, with an unprecedented feeling of certainty. He wasn’t certain about his success, or his defeat, not even of his life. But he was certain that he wouldn’t come out the same way he was when he got in. And scary as it was, there was an exciting feeling of new doors to open that would make him change. ‘There is something good in all changes’ he assumed. ‘Changes must be good’.