The times I feel when my emotions have nowhere to go. . .I think of Nelson Mandela’s cell. For over 25 years that cell contained his body, but not his mind or essence. The deconstruction of my physicality, my ability to move is in its’ own cell. My ever so slowly transfer of power is tempered by perception.
However, the good stuff, my dreams, where my laughter originates, the music, well that extends beyond any physical borders. We all have it, the place where judgement no longer is valued. Where we can let go. . .This place is where I meet Nelson Mandela.