Used belief only:
This is not a museum.
Belief is not displayed here under glass, dusted occasionally, admired for its symmetry. Belief is taken down from the shelf.
It is argued with, cried into and tested on bad days and inconvenient Tuesdays.
It is dragged through grief, through parenting, through illness, through disappointment.
If it survives contact with reality, it stays.
If it collapses under pressure, it is not defended. It is examined.
Unused belief calcifies. It mistakes protection for purity. It confuses repetition with depth. It grows loud and brittle.
Used belief softens and strengthens at the same time. It can handle questions. It can absorb new data. It can admit, “I was wrong,” without disintegrating.
This space is for a belief that has fingerprints on it.
Belief that has cost something.
Belief that has been doubted and returned to.
Belief that has been reshaped by experience instead of shielded from it.
Not ornamental certainty, inherited slogans or fear dressed up as conviction.
