I envy those whose faith carries them forward—
holds their hand,
comforts them,
wipes their tear-stained faces,
and stays, even when others turn away.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Who Am I Writing For?
When I write for myself, I write more authentically—the cocoon cracks, and my pure self emerges.
I, an Outsider
I have always been an outsider—at home, among friends, in the world, even in my own skin. Only my mind refuses to cast me out.
Gallery Encounters
An old man sat beside me, gazing at the painting of infinity. Though we did not know each other and had arrived at our own times, following our own paths, I was overtaken by the feeling that we had come together to admire the work. It always took my breath away with its overflowing beauty. Around us, there was the soft rustle of coats, the clatter of footsteps, and occasional coughs as visitors moved from one piece to another; yet we were so moved that we existed in our own separate world.
We have met here before, always sitting side by side in front of this same painting. Today, I stepped into the gallery bathed in amber light, the autumn storm still raging inside me. His presence always felt like a warm embrace.
I do not know what made me lay my hand on his soft, wrinkled hand. To my surprise, the man did not recoil; I saw tears kissing his life-hungry face.
The Sea Slime
The woman said, 'I am a sinking sea slime; slimy, cold, leathery, shapeless. I live in the mud at the bottom of the sea, listening to its roar. Is this what the sound of the Earth is like? She takes care of me, guides me to where there is food, keeps dangers away. She comforts me with his ever-present being. I see nothing, for I have no eyes. I hear only the roar, and I feel the eternal current of life on my skin; I am programmed to tremble and pulse in its rhythm.'
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