What If It Was All An Illusion?

Mother to Son

BY LANGSTON HUGHES

Well, son, I’ll tell you:

Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

It’s had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor—

Bare.

But all the time

I’se been a-climbin’ on,

And reachin’ landin’s,

And turnin’ corners,

And sometimes goin’ in the dark

Where there ain’t been no light.

So boy, don’t you turn back.

Don’t you set down on the steps

’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.

Don’t you fall now—

For I’se still goin’, honey,

I’se still climbin’,

And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

Langston Hughes, "Mother to Son" from The Collected Works of Langston Hughes. Copyright © 2002 by Langston Hughes.

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Life hasn’t been a crystal stair, especially during the past year.

I fell asleep 45 minutes before midnight because I had no illusions that when the clock struck 12, ushering in 2024, things were going to change magically.

Nevertheless, I created a vision and worked the plan. Old and new foes resurfaced. They nearly crushed me. I experienced the humbling life gives you when it tears you down like a lioness, down to the white meat.

I awoke this morning, and my soul quietly whispered, “What if it were all an illusion?”

What if your enemies were not stomping, screaming, vengeful beasts but broken children inside?

“I would have compassion for their brokenness,” I responded. “I would pray that the storms raging inside them would stop. I would pray for their wholeness and healing.”

“Good, that’s good,” my soul said. “What if money were an illusion?”

“But…but that’s real,” I balked. “They will throw me out of this house if I don’t pay the rent. They will turn off the lights if I don’t pay the electricity.”

“So?” my soul nudged. “Would you be homeless?”

“No, but I’d feel like an idiot,” I said. “With all my education and life experiences, not being able to pay my bills and have a roof over my head.”

“What if that thought was an illusion?” my soul said. “What if that’s just your ego talking? What if the community you’ve been longing for in the achievements, faraway lands, social media followers, and between the legs of men who never loved you was an illusion?”

I sat up in bed and propped up the pillows. The first rays of morning light gleamed through the window and streaked across my floral comforter.

“What if you spent your whole life chasing the wind?” my soul continued.

Peeling myself from underneath the covers, I said, “I’m going to need a cup…no, a pot of tea for this one.”

I poured fresh water from the gallon on the countertop and into the kettle.

“I’m going to need Earl Grey for this soul conversation,” I said while scooping sugar into the teapot. “That’s my thinking tea.”

My soul patiently waited for the Earl Grey tea to steep before lobbing the next question, “What if you discovered that the ancestors you’ve spent the last five years on a quest learning to swim, dive, and map sunken slave ships were with you all along? What if they were in the spirits of your family who sense, even thousands of miles away, that you’re in trouble?”

“Can we go back to the wind question?”

“Sure.”

It was my turn to ask a question. “What if I like chasing the wind because once in a while, I catch the wind and ride it?”

“And now?” my soul asked.

“And now the wind is still,” I said. “Its stillness is crushing my throat.”

“What if the still wind crushing your throat is an illusion?”

“I would wait until the next wind came and ride it,” I said. “Soul, you’ve been with me for a long time. You understand I like faraway lands, dust on my feet, cardamon, the sea, and movement. That’s why the stillness is crushing me.”

“Ahhh,” my soul laughed. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

I poured the first cup of tea now that it finished steeping. I inhaled the bergamot oil and lavender.

“Kerra, I know you like riding the wind,” my soul said. “You’ve been like this for lifetimes. I’m suggesting that you’ve been chasing the wrong winds. You do that when you’re not honest with yourself. Stop chasing the wind of a husband and children, for example, if you know your eyes will always look at the distant horizon, waiting for the next wind.”

I sipped the tea, nearly scalding my tongue. Was it my soul’s truth scalding me or the heat of the tea burning through me?

“Go on,” I said.

Nodding thoughtfully, my soul said, “What if you built your life around riding the winds you want to ride? What if the wind itself were an illusion?”

“I would be limitless,” I said.

“That’s my girl,” my soul said. “Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

“It’s…all an illusion?”

My soul sat back and smiled. I continued.

“The heartbreak, pain, foes, woes, not having enough, not being enough, and so-called gatekeepers to my dreams… were all an illusion.”

I took another sip of tea, comprehending the utter simplicity of the profound.

“Is God an illusion?” I asked.

“To some people, yes,” my soul said. “To us, no.”

I sighed in gratitude.

“Who do you think was carrying you as you rode the wind?” my soul said.

The mighty wind in my throat I held during the conversation released in a single whoosh. The exhale was small, but it contained a multitude of illusions.

“I will give it to you straight,” my soul said. “The wind stilled itself long enough for you to realize that it is all an illusion and you are limitless. Your family admires you, and they want a chance to help you. So, let them. You don’t have to go to the bottom of the sea or a faraway land to find your family or home. They are in your heart.”

My soul pointed to the place between my drooping, bra-less breasts, “Right there.”

“Learning to swim, dive, and map sunken slave ships is a wild adventure,” I said. “It’s a wind I want to ride.”

“Then, ride it.”

“I want to write and film the adventure,” I said. “I’m a limitless creator who loves traveling, writing, filmmaking, cooking, storytelling, fashion, and God, most of all.”

“Don’t forget that you love wind chasing,”

I laughed, “That too.”

Then, the crystal stair of my life smashed into millions of pieces. The wind remained.