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Pretend for a
moment that you are a mink -- beautiful,
valuable, precious because of the skin
that covers you. Suddenly your
homeland is invaded by hunters, with
bats. The hunters seem kind, yet
you approach them cautiously. They
pet the younglings who are innocent,
less cautious. As you approach
your young, the hunters attack.
They beat you. You are dazed,
struggling for composure. The
hunters steal your skin, your heritage,
the very essence of your being.
They leave you to die, but you survive.
Your fur grows back. Stronger.
More beautiful than before.
Somehow it doesn't make sense. The
very thing that makes you who and what
you are is the source of pain.
Confused, distrustful, you hide yourself
or camouflage your fur, your essence.
Silently you begin to curse your fur,
because the hunters return again and
again. You begin to understand you
will never get away from being what you
are. As long as you have fur, you
will be hunted. The issue is:
Will you curse your fur, give up and
die? Or just continue to be a
proud but cautious mink?
-- Iyanla Vanzant |
