LIVING OUTSIDE THE BOX

I was born and raised in a box. For many years I did not realize it was a box. The box was one of my parents choosing. They felt it was best for me to stay in the box all my life. They had been raised in a box and thought it was the best place to be.

They had never gotten out of their box, and believed only what other people in boxes told them. They told me that if I stayed in the box all my life, that when I died the box would transport me to a beautiful place where I would be happy forever. If I got out of the box before I died, then when I did finally die, I would slip down to a terrible place where I would be tortured for eternity.

It did not matter if I was happy living in the box, because if I stayed there, eventually I would die and then would be happy forever. I saw many other people living in their boxes in misery, but they too believed they would eventually die and be happy.

At a young age I didn’t wonder why they never questioned their misery, as I never questioned mine. Many times, I just wanted to go ahead and die, so I could be happy. But I could not kill myself, as that would cause me to fall out of my box and go to the torturous place.

I was told to listen for God’s voice. I was to talk to God and tell him my troubles. He would understand. However, within the box, the only voices I was able to hear were of other people in boxes. The words were always the same.

They said their voice was the voice of God. They gave me a book to read that they told me was written by God. They said the book would help me learn how to live happily in my box. I read the book, but it seemed confusing. It said God was angry and mean, and also full of love. I didn’t understand how that could be.

Occasionally I would get glimpses of people living outside of boxes. Some seemed happy, some not. However, I knew they would all die and go to the torturous place, so I didn’t talk to them.

Besides my parents and other box people told me that if those people living without boxes got too close to my box, they would poke holes in my box.
If too many people poked holes in my box, then my box would crumble and I would not have a safe place to live. Of course, then I would die without a box and go to the torturous place forever. So I only associated with other box people. However, I continued to be sad and wanted to hear God’s voice.

One day I was trying hard to hear only God’s voice, not those of others in boxes. A bird flew by and started chirping happily. It made me angry, because it was so noisy that I couldn’t hear God. I yelled for it to go away. Then a bee buzzed by. It made me angry, too. The buzzing was noisy and I was afraid it would sting me. I chased it off, wanting to kill it. I sat in my box and cried, because I couldn’t hear God.

Through my sadness came memories of when I was very young. I remembered that I used to get out of my box and play in the grass and sand. I would dance with the little animals, and sing with the birds. I also remembered that God and I talked when I was out of my box.

My parents would yell and tell me to get back into my box where it was safe. I wanted to make them happy, so I did. But when I was in my box, I couldn’t hear God’s voice properly. It was muffled and not clear like it was when I was outside, with my feet in the grass and the wind blowing in my hair.

Perhaps I had made my parents happy by staying in my box, but I was miserable. My legs were cramped and always ached. My back hurt from being scrunched up. My head hurt from crying so much. It was hard to breath in the box because the air was not pure and clean. I always felt tired because of my aches and pains.

I decided it was time for me to be happy now and if I could talk to God outside of my box, then I would ask him to keep me from going to the torturous place when I died. He was my friend, so I knew he would not let me be hurt.

It was hard stepping out of my box. My parents saw me, and though I was not a child, they still yelled for me to get back to my box and safety. I told them that I loved them and wanted to make them happy, but the box was killing me. I wanted to sing and talk to God again, like when I was little. I told them my friend God was outside the box for me. Perhaps he was inside their box for them.

As I stepped outside my box, God threw his arms around me and said he was glad I was back. I told him that I had listened for him in the box, but couldn’t hear him. He told me he had sent his bird and then his bee to talk to me, but I chased them off.

I told him that I was sorry and had forgotten that we all were one with God. The box had kept me from him. The bird flew overhead singing with me, as the bumblebee flew up to me and gently kissed my face, then flew away.

Now I run happily, with no more leg or back pains. My feet skim over the soft grass as I dance with God. The animals and plants are my friends, and we celebrate our oneness with God everyday.

I go to visit my parents, living in their boxes. They still yell occasionally for me to return to the safety of my box. They worry because I opened my children’s boxes and they now run free outside. My children are happy and run and play with God, too. If they want to return to their boxes, that is okay. God says he wants us all to be happy and make our own choices.

I would like for my parents to come out of their boxes and run and play with God and me. However, they have lived in their boxes for so long that they don’t know how to run and play. Their legs are crippled by being in the box for so long. I tell them I love them. I know someday that when they die they will go to the happy place and so will I.

The torturous place is only for people who don’t love God. I know this because my friend God told me. I don’t have to hear his words through other people or a book, because he runs and plays and talks to me every day.

I am not angry with my parents for putting me in a box. They did the best they knew how. I have forgiven them. Actually I really don’t have to forgive them. If I had never lived in a box, I would not know how wonderful it is to live outside running and playing with God.

As I live this happy life that I have chosen, I meet people living in boxes. Some remember me from when I was in a box. They are very confused how I can be so happy and healthy not living in a box. They don’t like to let me get very close, as they are afraid of me poking holes in their box.

So I just smile and send them love, like my friend God says to. The love pokes its own little hole, enough so they can breath better, but sometimes they don’t notice. My friend God says it is okay if they don’t notice, at least they are a little more comfortable. If they decide to peek out of their box it will be easier for them.

My friend God is my best friend. I am so happy I finally stepped out of my box so I could spend all my time with God.

Copyright Morgana Starr 2003