MyTimeToBlog
My mind felt the cold breath of Mr. Frost as I huddled under my blanket. I hadn't been that exposed to the outside elements since I was homeless, sleeping in a car. Crazy, but I'm in a prison cell, unable to do anything with my blanket and sheet; the cold air owned the night.
In prison, you're either too cold or too hot. There never was a fine medium, so instead of finding comfort under my blanket and sheet, I'm struggling to find sleep. I'm wide awake, thinking about my life. This was where I asked myself how the hell did I get here? I of course knew the answer, but I still drifted back down that darkened cave of regret. It's my penance for never forgetting what I was.
In my twenty-seventh year of incarceration, the days of yesteryear yanked at my soul. I've discussed my struggles, finding solace in solutions that gave me strength to become more...but the cold grabbed me, transforming me into a stress bubble, that burst.
I grabbed my blanket, cowering under it, struggling for warmth. I can't find it. I dove off the deep end, sinking further and further into my past. I saw myself in a kitchen uniform, stealing warm chocolate chip cookies from the bakers. They're stolen, and I'm recognizing I'm a thief. I dropped them on the floor, disgusted by my actions.
I shifted my body under the blanket, into a fetal position, the baby crying in my soul. Where was the warmth? Where was the love? Where? How could I be there, without a semblance of warmth, compassion, a caring heart?
Now I'm a rotisserie of regret, turning, turning, turning, and turning. My thoughts ventured into a story I wrote some years ago when I wanted God in my life: A Winter's Tale. A homeless man at a bus stop, struggling for warmth. His blanket was given to an elderly woman out in the cold, and his only recourse for keeping warm was newspapers. A man showed up in his vehicle, questioning the homeless man about whether he wanted to get into the vehicle or perish. I knew the answer, but the risk of getting in was costly.
That story ended well because I wrote it. Now why did I think about it? I guessed the cold, or possibly the fact that I had to escape those negative thoughts--but it's so freaking cold.
I hid under my blanket, still struggling. My thoughts told me to be positive. How though? I asked myself over and over...and there it was, a beach on a sunny day with my family. The light erased the dark, showering me in a sphere of warmth. The kind that kept me going.
My twenty-seventh year of incarceration and the warmth of my family's love blanketed me. Hey son, I love you. Mom's voice warmed my soul. Big bro, you're amazing. That was Idiah, my second sister who called me her twin. Hey Punk, stop being soft. Kia, her cheerful voice reinvigorated my soul, defrosting it. I look up to you. Respect. Chris, my big brother, said that. My soul warmed.
I stopped the rotisserie because my core was cooked with love that warmed me. I lay there, remaining in my place of peace, recognizing I had what I needed to get through the night. I smiled, blessed that the cold in my heart and body was gone, replaced by my positive outlook on life.
Have you ever been cold, and while there, did you let those kinds of thoughts sneak in? If so, remember this: you are loved, and when you realize that, go to that place and warm your soul. I'll be there too, so let's warm up together with a smile.