by Jack Shapiro

I can feel my heart beating as I step out the door. I stand on the doorstep, breathing, terrified but sure. Through the door behind me lives my faith, my heart, my memories, my joys, my pains, everything I’ve ever known. Stepping away means stepping into the unknown, it means saying goodbye to the security, the resonance, the comfortable, the known.

I turn and look at the building, this house of my faith system and the life I’ve created in it… the life that was created for me. I feel the security of it beckoning me, but know that the security will be coupled with the same pain that always existed.

The air outside is fresh and new. It stings, but I grow more comfortable with each breath. I can feel my lungs really taking in the air. Oh, its been so long since I’ve felt this! I stand at the doorstep. I look up and down, back and forth. All I can see is what I am leaving behind, my view is completely obstructed. I turn away and see space; uncomfortably unfamiliar.

The fear of the unknown keeps me at the door. I sit down and just look into the space. I question again and again if I should really leave, but every time I consider returning I remember what pushed me to the door. I choose not to return. To return means to sever myself from reality, to numb, to exist surrounded by the familiar but empty. I remember the years of trying to soothe the empty; the prayers and faith and work and waiting, with empty growing each day. The empty that grew thick in the air. The empty that began to suffocate me. I take a deep breath of this new air and remember that what beckons is the past. The beckoning is childhood hopes and dreams far from present reality. But they keep me there, at the door for what seems like an eternity.

I am paralyzed… living for the air, and yet suspended between two worlds; the painful known, and the terrifying unknown. I force myself to focus completely on the air. Breath in. Breath out. Again. Again. I feel the life of the air. I feel it healing me. I feel it spilling through my lungs, and then my muscles. I feel my body reviving, and I am surprised to feel how much it needed reviving.

Finally, I breathe deep, close my eyes, and walk into the space. I force myself to charge ahead, knowing that if I stop and look back too soon my heart will rip into pieces. I have chosen, so I continue to charge.

All at once I feel a warmth. I stop charging. My heart is pounding. I talk myself into opening my eyes.

I open them. Sunlight!

Its beautiful!

I turn to look back. I see my faith, my life, the house that went empty for me far in the distance. I feel the twinges of beckoning, but my perspective fills me with a new peace. I see that the building I left is just one among many. I see rows and rows and rows of buildings. Of lives, and faiths, and people. I see that what once overwhelmed me is just a piece of the whole, and it is small in comparison. Out here there is so much space! Space, and air, and natural light.

I feel something growing inside me. Faith, but new. There are no words, but it is real to me. It calms me. This unfamiliar space becomes an exciting possibility.

But today I will breath. Breath and observe… and believe.