Life is a process of construction.
We begin with the idea, the hope, the want or the surprise of a new life. Then we start with preparation, blue prints, and funding. Followed by the beginning of the frame. People help build us. They give their advice, their perspective on what will help us weather the storms. Stronger walls, or open windows. Sharper corners or rounded ceilings. Every opinion is thrust upon our blue prints, of what we are destined to be in the end. All they could do was give us a frame. They try to give us the best of materials to work with. The strongest wood or perhaps they believe in being hard as stone. It’s is all us from there on out.
The contractors are supposed to have come to help you build the rest of your work, but they never come. They leave you all alone just like they always do. The people who are supposed to help you, the ones who would get a benefit from helping you, never show. They fall through in the end. So you do it all yourself. You get the concrete, the wood, the bricks, the works, and set to work on your own. You cannot go on with life until this is finished. So you will do it all alone for the rest of your days if you have to. You finally finish the walls; those go up first. to block out the cold, or the scorching heat, the rain, and the wind; all the things that could try to ruin your dream. You block them all out. You work for years and years until you have a strong ceiling and a pointed roof, a door, and small windows. There is one large window in the back, where you dare to daydream of what may come. But you specifically placed it in the back so that no one would see that you have a wish, a dream. If no one knows, then no one can crush that dream, that hope, that last reason for working hard. The last thing you put on your structure is a lock... or two. Both lock automatically behind you. You've worked hard to build it up from nothing, and don’t trust anyone with it but yourself. You make a key. Just one. No need for another, seeing as no one could ever be worthy of such a hard piece of work.
You lock the door and turn around to look at it. Its strong, its thick, it’s safe, from all things outside its walls. Its thick, brick, solid walls. You look at those walls, and see nothing. they are so plain, so... nonexistent. you realize you couldn’t put any light fixtures in, because you made the walls so solid that no electricity could run through them. So you look for a place to rest, but you find no comfort in your barricade. You look at the floor, and realize you forgot to build a foundation. The ground beneath your feet is just that. Ground. Dirt, mud, dust. no grass, no flowers. Just dirt. You lean against your wall, and slide to the wet ground. You realize that you will never be safe from the cold, the wet, and the uncomfortable. It will always seep in through the ground and disturb your silent sanctuary. You get up and walk to your back window, and long to feel the sunshine, the warmth that comes with a dream. You open the window and a warm breeze come in, you lean out the window, and your one key falls out the window and into the grass. What can you do? You cannot go outside. Who knows what kind of disaster could happen? You tried to lean out further and get it, but you built your window so high up that you cannot reach the ground. You close the window and back away, dreams are too dangerous. With the extra materials you have, you board up that window, and give up on ever leaving your hand made prison; your one safe hideaway where nothing can reach you. You will never be touched by the cold, the wet, the heat... nor the warmth, the dry, the light, the electricity of life... you will feel nothing. Here in your hiatus.
You hear a soft "knock knock" on your door, and think, 'what's the use? You couldn’t open it if you tried. You’re locked in and out of the world. You hear a gentle 'click' and the turning of a doorknob. You look at the door, and it swings slowly open. Someone walks in, without being asked to walk in. You never invited them into your shelter, your prison... the door begins to swing closed, and you panic, worried that they will be trapped in here with you. You would never wish that on anyone. You realize, they have the key; the one key that can get you out of here. But do you want to leave? You're suddenly worried about your dependence on this stranger. Will they let you out? Will they force you out? But they extend a closed hand to you. It opens, and they hand you the key. Without a word, they smile at you. You hear the wind blow, but you cannot feel it. Nor can you see what kind of storm is outside. Your boarded window will not reveal if it is the winds of summer warmth, or the icy winter blasts. You look at them timidly, and decide to reach out. You take the key, but you are shaking with such fear of pain, that you drop it onto the muddy ground. You tremble, worried of what you've done, what they will say, what they will think? You scramble on the ground to pick it up, getting mud all over yourself. They extend a hand again, and this time it looks kind. But is it? Is it really a helpful offer? Against your will, you take their hand, and as they pull you off the ground, the earth shakes, your walls tumble down, and the ceiling crumbles around you both. The wind blows and you cringe, expecting the bitter winter, but it is a warm, comforting breeze. You've never felt that warmth, or smelled that comforting smell. They begin to let go of your hand, and panic strikes again, you don’t want this warmth to leave, you realize you have no walls left to protect yourself when the wind turns cold again. But as they let go, the wind stays warm. You begin to resign to being alone again. You watch them walk away, but they stoop and pick up the walls, thinner than before, they cut out your windows, and your door, and place the walls again. They smile at you and wave you over. For the next few months they help you rebuild what was torn down. But they give you light, electricity runs through your walls, and you watch them make you newer bigger windows, and you can see them through it. This almost frightens you; they have become your dream.
You begin to slow the progress of the reconstruction. You don’t want them to leave. But the last wall goes up, and the paintings are placed inside, beautiful marble and wood flooring. You look at your feet, and see the foundation. It’s is a happiness that you'd never felt before; A happiness that you will have even when the weather is weary. You look around at your beautiful new structure, and realize that something is missing. You turn to look at the door, a door with no lock, and you see them standing there, outside the building, looking at the ground. They stand on the muddy ground you used to live on. You lift their chin, and this time, you invite them in. They smile, and as they step across the threshold, you realize that everything is right. True, everything was beautiful without them, and you would be able to dream, to be happy without them there. But before, it was a structure, a building, a set of walls. And now, with them inside, it is a Home.