• Shiree

Amorphia to Amore

Updated: Sep 28, 2019

There once was a blob named Amorphia. Amorphia was a perplexion! People around Amorphia would ask, “What IS it?” Amorphia reminded them of a cloud—coming and going, boundaryless, colorless, sometimes dark, sometimes wispy. Amorphia would sometimes sigh, or seem to blush, or laugh raucously. It must be a she. 

Did they like Amorphia? Did they have an opinion about her? (Yes, it was a she.) They didn’t know. In fact, they decided it was just safest to keep their distance from this mystification. When they did get close, she froze, hoping her motionlessness would deem her acceptable enough. Or that her warbly laugh was cool enough.

Amorphia couldn’t figure what was wrong with her. She hoped to blend in. She hoped to rise above. Sometimes she felt downright discriminated against (could she help her flighty or stormy weather?). She was trying her darndest to fit in, but those dreams would vanish with a simple breeze.

Then one day, she met a healer. The healer did something peculiar. He took a No. 2 pencil and outlined her into the form of a woman. A woman with arms and legs, a head and a torso. How new this border felt! It seemed to contain her.

As Amorphia walked down the street, people noticed her and some people smiled at her. She must return to the healer for more! The healer grabbed his colored pencils and added a heart to her middle, a mind to her top, knees to her lower, and a glow to her border.

As she departed that evening, she asked the healer what she could do before she came back to him again. He told her to decide what was in her heart, to define the contents of her mind, to bend her knees often, and to recognize the glow around other people’s borders. 

She was ecstatic. This was so different than the amorphous living she’d know for so long. But it wasn’t easy. She spent much time and attention at the tabernacle feeling her definition and filling in the cracks. Others began talking to her like she had substance—so refreshing!

Back again to the healer. What would he give her this time? He took his permanent marker and drew a line in front of her like a wall, and gave her two pieces of instruction: “You must determine who you are and keep it within your side of the line. Then you must decide everything you can possibly freely give without letting it cross your line, and give it to others. 

She spent the whole next week in the tabernacle deciding what belonged on each side of the permanent line. These were the phrases that encapsulated her side of the line: ‘This is what I believe.” “This is what I prefer.” “I’m sorry, no.” “If you want it so bad, do it yourself.” “I can do this, but I can’t do this.” 

And what belonged on the people side? “I’d be glad to help after I take care of my basic needs.” “Sure, my cup is full enough that I can freely give you this.” “I’d be happy to do this for you again, but I’d be happy to receive this from you in return.” “I know the healer is giving me enough to share of my abundance; I’d be delighted to share.” “Thank you, I appreciate your sharing so much.”

On her last trip to the healer, Amorphia wondered what the healer could possibly give her now. It was simple and it was enough; with a red sparkly gel pen, he wrote a new name on her name tag: Amore.

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