Shadows of Gray

The world is different through my eyes

Where you see sunlight filtered through clouds, I see every shade of yellow and gray.  You see relief from the glare, I see magic being birthed.

When you see a panhandler with his sign on a corner, you see incompetence and addiction.  I see a broken, humiliated man with a story to tell.

When you see the rain falling on the road, you grumble at getting wet or watching drivers overreact.  I see the glint of light and allow the sound of rain to soothe my soul.

Where there is darkness in the forest you fear for ghosts.  I watch for faeries to appear.

When mountain peaks are washed in golden sunlight, you see majesty, but I see nature communicating as the mountain thanks the sun for its warmth.

When you stare out at the ocean, you see its surface beauty.  But I hear the souls of the world calling out across the distance, and delight in the ancient waters that have circled the entire globe.  Ireland kisses my feet.  The waters the Messiah crossed have evaporated, gathered in the sky, and fallen in tempests on the ocean.  Pilgrims crossed the waters.  Wayfinders journeyed across the waters, using the stars to guide them.

When you complain about the sand that gets in and on everything, I see millions of shells that have been worn down and deposited safely on the shore to rest.

Where you see the desert, I see a sea of glass waiting to happen.

People are sad and depressed.  You see another person who “doesn’t get it”, and I see heartache, desperation, desire to be more than this– and survival.

Perspective is a flip of a switch.

We all have different vantage points.

Mine invites you to see the world in different colors, when all most see is shadows of gray.

Promise of Affliction

Don’t speak.

Words hurt.

Don’t try to pursue the chaos.

It’s poisonous.

I’m cyanide.

I will only shatter you to pieces.

Don’t come too close.

I’m far too gone to save.

What kind of life do I promise?

What kind of joy could I bring?

The madness spins and spins.

Straw is turning to ash.

How can a broken heart produce gold?

Pretend with me the world is okay.

Pretend with me that I never hurt.

This box can cram shut.

Demons skipping around the room,

Laughing as the pieces continue to scatter.

Lament with me over the broken pieces.

And when I’ve stopped weeping, just go.

Wounded hearts feel the deepest of hope.

They feel the deepest heartache.

Chaos rages into the night.

The Dark is snickering.

Why?  What was my problem?

How could I be so easily disposable,

And so easily adored?

I’m a suicide note waiting to happen.

I’m good at pushing loved ones away.

I’m even better at hiding that anything was ever wrong.

And to think this chaos only started last week.

A sealed box of history past crashed open.

Suddenly a lifetime of memories feel like they happened yesterday.