When Did Your World Change?

Was it the day you uncovered the oldest belief in your heart? That day when you found out it was something gray, covered in lint, left behind the drying machine where all your wet blankets have gone round till they are soft, fuzzy, smell nice so you wrap yourself in them.Did your world change when you realized your oldest belief is godless? That it has no shine? That it's like a film on every rock in your collection adding to their substantial weight?  Or was it after you realized it's what makes your body look like your mother's, it's what keeps you from finishing your book, it's what marched you out of your parents' house into the world and back again, loveless and shaking. Is that when your world change? 

No, it was sometime later. One day, I took my courage, my high tolerance for gross, and I reached down and back, behind that same drying machine. I pulled the oldest belief in my heart out, and it was as limp as a lost sock. I washed off the blood, stitched up my wound with lavender thread. Then, I anointed the belief with oil, embalmed the belief with herbs. Gave it an obituary better than this poem. Finally, I buried it out back, and only visit as a rule or ritual,  on Tuesday afternoons.

That's when my world changed.