Sometimes I wonder if all the little things that are ‘wrong’ with us, signal or hints at something other. What does my poor eye sight really mean? Is this why I could never see the world and its people as is, for who and what they are? What if, just what if, that’s the way it’s meant to be? Why see only the harshness, the aridness clinging to people skins, the inside of their hearts, if there is so much more to all of us than skin surface perceptions?
What would we be without all our little dents and imperfections eh? Perhaps that’s what gives us a tiny twist in our vision, a crack in our armour, so we can feel with greater depth, and find the harmonies and frequencies, a small reminder. A way back to ourselves…
I stare at the sky a great deal and last night my eyes were drawn to something deeper and slightly stranger. I saw, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, thin strings, silver in color, connecting all the stars across the black night. What if, I thought, they are somehow all whispering to each other across the vastness, sharing their small stories of the world and the people below? And what happens to the wishes all of us silently thrown into the sky, does it become intertwined between the silver strings? What do they do with all those unheard voices, thoughts and prayers locked in our chests that we so willingly throw into the sky?
But then again, a few weeks ago, while staring at the Moon I thought for a second that someone, a being altogether different, was staring out of the Moon, like a small window, into our world and taking a good old look! This is what days and nights feel like with me. Nothing is ever what it seems. I use creative licence so freely my feet drift above the earth.
And so my challenge is to view the world in a balanced manner. Not to splash too much music and color around an event or person. Perhaps, just enough to make an experience more bearable, or find meaning or to not get lost along the way.
My shaman said, while listening to a new song I penned, that I give too much importance to those who are not worthy of my time or the music I create. Why not shed music I thought? Why not music or words gilded in light, a small something beautiful? And what if, just what if, they need the music more than I do? What if the music I offer anyone who listens takes a bit of the edge away in an already harsh world? Isn’t that service enough?
Then my mind is cast to another question thrown at me by her. Who, asked my shaman, has ever shown you as much love or care as you do to others? Aside from The Mexican there have been men who wrote songs, poems and lavished gifts sure. But what I value a great deal more is time. Time spent taking, sharing, making music, laughing, cooking, making love, fucking, dancing. We all have different ways of viewing the world and determining what matters most. And our small imperfections play their part well.
I heard it being said that….to know is to love. To know the inner and outer skin of another. Perhaps. I would rather know my own darkness and the furthest point I can be pushed to first before I extend any of myself to others in a meaningful way. Or am I kidding myself and just scared?
Only time will tell. All I do know and love right now….are the spots of ink on my face (freckles), the feel of clothes in my skin, the places my imagination can linger in and every bit of green and beautiful piece of earth I tread on. As for my imperfections, the chink in my armour? What is it that the poet Rumi said about pain being the single point where light can enter, or about a candle knowing it must burn to shed light?
We are not nearly as broken as we fear we are.