A story of Wisdom
by: the 8 of Cups
The time came, perhaps a little later than it should have, when we realized that distance was needed. When we realized that a carefully-planned collection must remain unfinished, a seat laid at table remain unfilled, an ideal arrangement left out of balance.
It is the simplest thing, to step back. To smile and nod-instead-of-hug. To knock appendages into one another, gently, that weren’t made for such contact. It’s easy, then, to smile – that’s where the funny bone is, after all.
Simple, yes, to step away, to a safer interval. But to turn away, feels like a leap of faith, like crossing waters not so still as we had remembered. And more than that, a betrayal, too. What kind of person turns their back on others in troubled times?
And yet this is the gift, the best one available, unplanned and unasked for but exquisite in its necessity: To turn away, and retreat to a distance where voices are faint, connection interrupted with the static of uncertainty and magic stretched thin. To break our own hearts, just a little, to learn the singer’s lesson and to not look back, though the voices whisper.
Is it necessary?
Will they return? Will I?
Will it matter, in the end?