A Thank-You to the Thief

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For eight years,

there was someone who pressed me down.

He took what was mine

and pushed me into the mire.

For eight years, I lived cursing him.

Because he had stolen what belonged to me.

For eight years, I lived in hell.

Then one day, I realized:

what he took from me

was not only money and time.

What he tore away from my life

carried with it a burden of karmic debt,

equal in weight to what was lost.

He stole my light,

but he also took upon himself the shadow

that clung to that light.

That shadow,

I doubt his eyes could ever see.

The moment I understood this,

a strange, deep gratitude

rose up within me

toward the one who had robbed me.

From the day he stole from me,

my own burdens began to shed,

one thin layer at a time.

The debt I had to repay

had quietly disappeared.

What greater blessing could there be?

And so these days,

I am unhurried.

I live with room to breathe.