I once stood before a mirror examining my uniform. It was important I looked like everyone else, not standing out in any way that would draw the wrong attention for correction. Every possible wrinkle was hidden behind hours of starch, ironing out what others might criticize with their words or eyes. My ribbons and badges I made obvious in conversation for how I had attended this training or that seminar.
One day my stomach began to make noises so loud I feared it could be heard. I began to hide away to feed myself. The more I fed though, the hungrier I became. Less and less attention I paid to my uniform appearance. My obsession was to quiet my inward growling and get back to stand in that place of expectation. It was made known that those who didn’t show up for formation would be thought rebellious or fallen comrades.
The hunger only increased until it was all consuming. I could no longer find the time to perform my duties to stand in line. A choice was before me; I could starve in my uniform or be fed in that place of hiddenness.