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Assured of Reassurance
By Mainecoon

If you don't already know the reason for this, you don't want to know. For the sake of understanding, I'll only say that I wrote this after what can only be termed a 'forum war'. Things have been patched up now, and the unfortunate victims (all involved, including myself) are in much-needed recovery. Perhaps some day I'll work the war into a storyline. But I won't tell it here. It's too complex and unnecessary. So here's my writing... entitled, 'Assured of Reassurance'

There are great dramas being played behind every door, if we only dare to look for them. Each day we walk past scenes the likeness of which no Shakespeare ever dreamed, no poet ever immortalized in song at the side of a dying fire. They are scenes of hope, of beauty, of joy, and of despair. They are our lives. Can we dare to live them?

There are great dramas being played within our very lives. We miss them because we don’t want to see them, or because we fail to look, or look too hard. We can all be our dreams. I have done it. You have done it. You all are here because you have done it! So why such mistrust?

We are who we are. We cannot change that. That is why we are here, together. We don’t HAVE anyone besides ourselves… and the ones of us who DO are extremely fortunate. Where else can we turn for reassurance despite our foolishness? Indeed, it is as a great poet said: “We are clowns whose hearts are broken.” It is so hard to mend a broken heart, but it is so easy to break it further.

Not long ago, a great drama found its way into our haven. Who can say who left the door open for its entry? It doesn’t matter. We were all given a taste of a very bitter ointment, and in most cases, it was mingled with sweet wine. Few of us are used to such a disturbance. I, for one, shall have no sleep tonight so that I may remember this and learn from it.

Tonight I was opposed to arguments I usually make against others. I found myself covered in the thick, blinding wool of a sheep’s costume. A poorly made one, to be sure. The mask fell into my eyes and I lost sight of where I ran. I lost sight of what was important. I… oh the shame!… was the one putting labels onto outcasts! We are all already outcasts… What could I have been but blind to have played the game of going against my own kind?

Backstabber. Betrayer. Moron. Jerk. All named I have been called. All, at the time, were rightly thrown. I am unaccustomed to being shown a place as humble as the one I now find myself in. One shadow has been lifted from me. I am vulnerable now in a place I have never been before. Yet, it is a good thing. Because my shield has been chipped, I must become stronger. I must learn to fight for my side without that shield.

This drama came and went. Does it still go on? Yes. Must it always go on? Perhaps. But the tides can turn, and peace can come. I have realized that the pedestal upon which I placed myself was too high and made of little more than cloudy dreams. I stand lower, but firmer now. And I can claim the prize of friendships that are strengthened by the bonding quality of turmoil. These friendships, which were unsure and indirect before, have come out as strong as any friendship I have ever been able to claim as my own. For a friendship based in a realization about oneself is a friendship based in Truth. Nothing is stronger than that.

I speak only for myself, but I hope that there are others who can say that I speak for them as well. Together, we are what we came to be. Safe. Here, we outcasts are kings and queens. Here, we who have been rejected by the Real World are accepted into a world where, even if we prove ourselves to be the fools we are, we are promised hope, encouragement, and condolence for even our most trivial fears and sorrows. Out There, hardened, uncaring eyes meet our troubles. But here, at least, we are assured of reassurance.

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