As time went by, the urn collected dust. It just sat in the corner being unproductive. I debated on throwing it out several times. But, somehow, it persisted as a regular feature of my apartment. In fact, when it came time for me to move, I took it with me. Even though, it was heavy as hell and reminded me of a funeral parlor I had grown attached to it. For some reason, I felt it had purpose in my life. When it came time for me to move again, the Buddha in me said why are you keeping this object? Let it go. But, I just couldn’t. I lugged it AGAIN, my travelling urn.
Then, just the other night, as if someone had suddenly turned on a light; it became clear to me what I had truly bought all those years ago. I had bought an urn! A fire pit! A place for all my sadness and worry and pain! How did I not see this before?! I joked about it but I never really got my own joke. It can be for me exactly what it’s always wanted to be – an energy re-leaser! A vessel of ash! I can throw things in there and burn them! What an epiphany! The purpose had finally been revealed after years of mockery and I couldn’t ask for better timing.
And so, in my own private living room, I took all my private thoughts that had been ruminating in my private heart; wrote them down on a piece of paper and lit them on fire. The freedom! The release! The impact of this ritual was astounding.
From ashes to freedom, I had found my style after all.