Locks and Lines

My apologies for a late post: my internet decided it was taking the evening off yesterday.

Locks and Lines

Greetings!  K day made happy noises centering around Keys, and now we move on to the Logical choice – Part of me SO wants to say Zebras, but no – Locks.

Locks

The fact that Locks are needed saddens me slightly. What is up with society to the point that we have to Lock our stuff up in order to assure that someone else doesn’t take it?  For that, Locks can be picked, sprung, and other nifty words that associate themselves with Lock-picking (which comes in handy when we Lock ourselves out of the house and/or car – personal experience). It saddens me that the Locks are needed, or that we feel they are, but my heart grows Lighter knowing that those Locks can be opened – and done away with – when we choose to stop holding ourselves back. I hear and see so many stories of people ‘coming out of the closet’ – due to sexual orientation, gender identity, religious beliefs, or any other tidbit about an individual that, thanks to society and the stupidity of fear, sends a beautiful individual into hiding even the tiniest molecule of what makes that person wonderful – and these closets to me are merely prisons whose inmates have decided to break out, do away with the dumb Locks, and risk censure. Yet, these courageous individuals who get rid of those Locks, and risk coming out of ‘safety’ into a world where safety should be as natural as oxygen existing, those individuals are inspiration to me, and I think to others. We all have secrets, Locked behind barriers, but what does that Leave for us?

Are we Living nothing more than a partial Life when we allow ourselves to be Locked – by our own doing or that of others – behind metaphoric doors? I have my own situations in this area to consider, and I’m constantly wondering what is the worst thing that could possibly happen if I were to ‘come out’ and break the blasted Locks. Something inside me says that my Locked up secrets are nowhere near the size of others’, but I still hold back, waiting, hoping, that I’ll someday decide to break those Locks…and color outside the Lines.

Lines

There are times when Lines hold us in – when we color within them, as we are taught at a young age (which, until I got into education and talked with a kindergarten teacher, I didn’t realize that it helps hone fine motor skills – Learned something there, didn’t I?) – and Lines that identify us, including those  Lines that make up the Letters, words, phrases, and sentences that describe us and fill out our official paperwork. Do those Lines define us, any more than the secrets that we keep Locked up prevent us from Living full and wonderful Lives? Are the Lines in our Lives restrictions, guidelines, or something else? Indicators of possibilities, maybe?

Have you ever seen a doodle art start?  For those wondering what on Mars I’m talking about, it’s essentially a quick squiggle of any kind on a blank piece of paper. Someone then takes that paper and turns it into a picture. A sharp V could be turned into a nose on a face, a coil could be turned into a curl of hair or – when turned a different way – the line in a cartoon showing someone running really fast. It’s all about possibilities, and that’s why I Love me some Lines. All kinds of Lines. There are Lines on this computer page that allow me to communicate my random thoughts with you out in Cyber Land. There are Lines that help guide drivers on the road, helping prevent accidents. There are Lines we know we don’t cross with certain people if we want to maintain any kind of a relationship, and Lines we won’t allow anyone else to cross with us. There are Lines that we toe, and Lines that we turn into something amazing. Lines can hurt, much like a whip’s Lash, and Lines that we work hard to scrub from our Lives.

Locks and Lines both can restrict, both can guide, and both can make safe until we are ready to break free, doodle ourselves a different kind of Life, and breathe deeply.

Thank you for your time,

JBB