Transparency.
It is the first ingredient for confession. You will never win at life if you play with a poker face.
Linus, the life coach, taught me that much.
Come to the wall.
Whatever wall blocks you from moving forward.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall; that wants it down. Yes, Mr. Frost, that is true.
The wall has pent up all my dreams.
I hear them, there, bantering on the other side.
So I come to the wall. I shout to the wall. I say to the wall, "Hey, I'm here. I'm not hiding anymore. Hey, I'm here: vulnerable, powerless, angry. Hey, did you hear me? I'm calling you out, wall. I'm not leaving. I'm not running. I hate this wall. I want it down."
I am marking my territory. My shouts provide echo-location for the source of my angst. Everyone will know: that I have a wall, that I hate this wall, that I cannot break it down.
You can't embarrass a wall down.
You can't harass a wall to crumbling.
I can be honest.
I can be transparent.
I can find the strength that is hidden in weakness.
My confession, made public, becomes our confession.
Nehemiah, the Hebrew governor-prophet, profoundly proclaimed to the persecuted people rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem:
One voice that calls many.
I am one voice.
I am many voices.
Accountability is fraternity.
In numbers...numbers that rally to my cry...numbers that march beside a wall...numbers that shout with shared frustration at a thing that will not move...that keeps me...keeps us...from the grand things waiting on the other side...
When masses march
and shout
walls fall.
Such movements begin
and only begin
with a face
easily read
by others
standing by
the same wall.
