Shame is a box
Shame is a box.
Silence, its walls.
Inside, the air is stale. Nothing gets in. Nothing goes out. Just the lingering, rancid stench of shame.
And shame is not an easy feeling to handle.
If it feels oppressive, it’s because it is oppressive. Of all the tools in the public’s tool belt, shame packs a hefty punch. Social media missives become missiles, targeted to destroy.
Sent to enclose the person in his box, inside of his shame.
The world feels small in there.
But a box is a box, not a castle. It’s not an impenetrable fortress.
That’s the funny thing about shame.
The walls are made of silence, and they can be walked through at any time. It’s the fear of failure, of annihilation, that keeps the person contained by the walls of shame.
But there is a way out.
It starts with truth, and it comes from within. It’s a budding awareness that grows and grows, until the person in the box outgrows the box — and slides through the walls of shame.
Fortunately, the masses think in shapes. Shapes are neat, and they can be used at will, designed to box people in.
Fortunately, truth knows no bounds. Self-love is shapeless. It’s a chameleon.
Because it knows no shape, it’s potential is unlimited. That which is formless fits no box.