The Icelandic connection - 01.06.2010, Blaðsíða 34

32
ICELANDIC CONNECTION
Vol. 63 #1
I believe . . .
by Leah Bjornson
I believe in cement shoes.
They keep our heads forever looking
up while our feet sink in the mud. Clouds
pass and obscure our view, casting shad-
ows that distract us from the life of which
we caught a glimpse. That life we saw is
a dream; we are stuck in a different reali-
ty, built out of limitations and desire. Our
companions plod on beside us with a
gloomy air, without any conviction to
escape this mundane march. We hear the
thudding footsteps to our left, and the
drudging paces to our right. The stiffness
in our joints has long since become a
phantom pain, as if a shade sits on our
shoulders and whispers of what used to
be. The urge to flex our toes and arch our
feet is a distant and hazy memory. But
when 1 hang my head, I am reminded of
my cement shoes, and so I lift my eyes
and plan for better days.
It’s easy to follow in the footsteps of
cement shoes. With every step, the
ground sinks deeper and the path grows
more permanent. As the dirt sinks, it
Rev. stefa ia,Jomssoia/
ARBORG UNITARIAN CHURCH
GIMLI UNITARIAN CHURCH
9 Rowand Avenue
Winnipeg, Manitoba R3J 2N4
Telephone: (204) 889-4746
E-mail: sjonasson@uua.org
becomes harder and harder to escape.
Day after day, the earth shifts and we find
ourselves eye-to-eye with ferns, then
rocks, then ants. The others have become
ants themselves, drones without dreams
of what could be. Their choice has been
made: security and conformity instead of
risk and individuality. So they turn and
carry on, content in their cement shoes.
Still, I believe in cement shoes. They
strengthen my resolve to pull my feet out
of the mud and search for the world
above. Every step is a reminder to contin-
ue to struggle against restrictions and
boundaries. It requires enormous effort to
lift my feet out of the trench-like path,
stomped into existence by orthodoxy. The
swollen river of my peers tries to carry
me along, but little do they understand
my drive and determination to break free.
Each handful of dirt, every inch upward,
brings me closer to the surface, until
finally I pull myself over the edge.
Gasping and panting, I arch my feet, wig-
gling one toe, then another, then all ten at
the same time. Casting a sideways glance
at the flood of heads and shoulders below,
I about-face and advance with my head
securely in the clouds.
I believe in cement shoes.
- Leah Bjornson