He began to tear down walls he had built to protect himself from the pains and hurts of life. Walls so laboriously built, memory by memory, one on top of the other concealing, hiding, and protecting the ever-growing number of wounds he had suffered and now as he began to tear the walls down. Those memories fitted so closely and mortared with cement made from his pain, he chipped away at the barricade one memory at a time.
The very cordons that once protected him from harm, the old-one knew without them, he had a serious chance of suffering the pain again. Yet, these new wounds would remained open to heal, as he learned to cope with his new life.
The memories began to fall, tumble from the precipices of the old one’s mind; through the flaws in his memories, light began to penetrate his darkness. He shaded his eyes from the growing brightness. Rays of light began to appear from the fissures like searing bolts of lightning burning into his colorless skin. The old-one felt the pain from the lights, and that over-whelming warmth, which bore deep into his soul.
The old one’s soul felt alive and he saw all that was new. To see all things different, he was amazed at how things could be something other than the way they were before the blacks and whites and grays began to dissolve into the new motley colors. He closed his eyes as he had done a million times before, and watched the colors grow, evolve, develop, and expand. He felt the peace growing within him.
His tranquility shaken, disturbed, he looked up, and rose on his rickety bones to talk to the noble who had arrived outside his door. The noble told him that in a week or two he would rejoin the herd.
The old-one took solace in the words, although he was a bit apprehensive. Here in the dungeons he could think, he could evolve without anyone noticing the changes; but then again, he thought, “What better way to hide something than to hide it in plain sight.”
He would go back to the herd and mimic them, while he reconstructed his life and soul. Reconstruction, a word that truly described this process. There were other words: words that are more powerful, more revealing words that could fully describe his torment, his agony, and his pleasures that he would finally know. However, the old-one did not know where these words were or where to find them but soon enough he would have the answers.
His reconstruction was started in the last month of that fateful year and it continues. You see he found out that once started as the old memories are torn out and forgiveness is asked and granted. A new memory not quite as haunting as the last appears and the task begins anew.
The last of the painful, hurtful memories have subsided and what are left are the memories of choices both good and bad. Those choices we make fresh daily. Moreover, at the end of the day, we reflect and we forgive ourselves for the bad choices and we praise ourselves for the righteous and good.