Let Us Boil

I was going to say it. But then I stopped.

My friend’s words fade to a mumbling as I listen to my heart.

Sometimes, my voice speaks before my conscience can intervene.

Not this time, though.

This time, I wait.

I wait as I let my words roll back down my throat and into my heart.

And I allow them to sit trial as the court convenes.

My pride steps forward first, summoning a defense of persuasive words. With grand gestures, it appeals to my rights and dignity. I must say it, and the words must cut deep! That friend will learn to speak with caution when he stands before such nobility as me!

My pulse increases in silent applause. My pride makes a strong argument. Shall I allow myself to be disrespected? Certainly not!

‘Now, now,’ my conscience interjects. ‘Let us not forget that Pride has been incarcerated for years now, and yet whenever this council is summoned, he is brought up here to partake. He may be in shackles but still without a muzzle. And he is always the first to speak. Let us first hear from the heart.’

I call my heart to the stand. It pumps its fist. ‘Pride is right! We must fight!’

The courtroom goes silent. The council knows that the heart is easily persuaded by boisterous words. Then, murmurs rise. Will Heart again follow Pride? Will it again refuse to listen to Compassion and Conscience?

The electric energy within the hall dissipates. Heart regains its composure and begins to speak on the values it would like to embody. The council nods in agreement at the idea of patience and forgiveness. Yes, Heart has been hurt, but can the response not still be rooted in kindness? If so, then these words cannot be sent forth to be heard. They would only impose injury and delay any opportunity for reconciliation.

Heart stutters and begins to tremble. A big cardboard sign had been raised in one of the back rows. ‘It will only happen again’, it reads in bright letters. ‘That’s right’, a sly voice whispers. The sign is lowered, and the crowd gasps. Heart lowers its gaze. A mysterious mist enters the room and covers the floor. ‘It will happen again’, the whisper repeats. Disguised by a thick fog, the bearer of the voice slowly makes its way to the witness stand. Heart steps back and takes its seat.

‘You all know me.’ the voice says. ‘You always listen to me. You love me. You follow me. You adooore meee.’ Not a single member of the council dared look at the fog now engulfing the witness stand. ‘I am Fear. We have been hurt. We must strike back before we are injured again. Do not listen to Pride. Do not listen to Heart. Disregard the words of Conscience. They are weak. I will tell you the truth! If we say nothing, we, too, are weak. Can’t you feel the trembling within you? We stand here like a vulnerable puppy that has been struck. We must bite back! Yell! Scream! Smoke must rise in escape of our fury! That will gain us respect. If we lose all control, others will do as we wish. If anger is power - let us boil.’

‘Order’, my mind interjects. ‘Order! Silence’.

‘NO!’ Fear replies, ‘Let us boil!!! The decision has been made. Send these words forth! Give them knives to cut the enemy down!’

I lost a friend that day.