The Sky Mask
The Sky Mask Post on a late Friday night...
We are not different, you and I, we are pieces of the same sky, disguised as individuals.
Yet I am, right here, right now and I have a memory to make, a mark to leave. And I want it to be kind and gentle. I want my footsteps to exist on sandy paths, visible only till the next high tide - to assure some one also lost, that there is a way, and it is fresh and it leads somewhere.
Every day I feed some one, something, whatever, anything. It is my contribution, my meaningful existence; I want to share from within my sustenance because it is the most basic of my daily requirements that make me very happy. I rescue the ants out with a spare toothbrush…I try to greet every tree out here and send my regards to their sentinel existence through a time longer than I can imagine. I try to push stalling cars, I try to touch a shoulder of a stranger and ask if they want help with the bags, I try to smile at the sullen, I try to patiently listen to the elderly, I pull faces at the cops, laugh with road sweepers, I try to be.
…and yet today, I faltered, when I saw by the intersection on the road side, a very sickly woman, poorly dressed in frayed, faded something, a tangled bush of hair recently brushed and set back with a small ribbon tie. She had on purple eye shadow and neon pink lipstick. She was haunching on the pavement smelling like many other homeless people we never see when we pass them by.
Our bus driver called out to her loudly, affectionately and she ran over giddily, obviously very pleased with this familiar attention, all her crooked teeth splayed out in a huge rainbow smile.
Her obvious pleasure was evident shining through her glittering eyes, sparkling with a new found boost of confidence - she was so proud at being addressed as a friend, singled out as a dear acquaintance, a face amongst many - in the middle of nowhere, during an unforgiving traffic jam - a hundred eyes upon her.
In that defiant pink lipsticked wide grin - I understood, everything. All that is in this world needs to be acknowledged, re-assured of their presence, appreciated for their existence. For what would a Mother Teresa be if it weren’t for those less unfortunate that she felt for? What would a Prophet be if it were not for the Sinners? Every Dog poo has to exist to remind you how convenient it is to go the same path without smelling something so foul, so intimately routine.
A harshness of a slap only resounds deeper, if the cheek is soft and rosy. If it were not for the contrasts nothing would exist, nothing would be significant; it would be a flat bed of nothingness. I believe no Hell exists outside of this realm, because everything has a purpose of duality and a role to play out - for a Hero to be redeemed a Villain has to fall. We carry the weight of our own personal hells upon our shoulders of indifference, in the very silence of our voices, in the dismissiveness of a shrug, in the blatant disrespect of diversity, in despondency in the face of a life most vibrant.
Just to be, we have to stand our ground, and stand our ground as hard as we can, because a dog chases a coward but backs off from the one who confronts it squarely in the eye. So I try to be as good as I can for as bad as I was. I have to fall before I rise, but I having been falling for a long, long time. I just want to be kind and I want to be generous, so that I can learn to be observant without judging, for respecting everything that exists, for giving me a reason to exist. I am part of you, we exist within the foul excrement found on our footpaths, we exist in the mild temperament of the bees, within the galaxies of stars, and then you exist in me.
We are just the sky wearing masks of individuality.
We are not different, you and I, we are pieces of the same sky, disguised as individuals.
Yet I am, right here, right now and I have a memory to make, a mark to leave. And I want it to be kind and gentle. I want my footsteps to exist on sandy paths, visible only till the next high tide - to assure some one also lost, that there is a way, and it is fresh and it leads somewhere.
Every day I feed some one, something, whatever, anything. It is my contribution, my meaningful existence; I want to share from within my sustenance because it is the most basic of my daily requirements that make me very happy. I rescue the ants out with a spare toothbrush…I try to greet every tree out here and send my regards to their sentinel existence through a time longer than I can imagine. I try to push stalling cars, I try to touch a shoulder of a stranger and ask if they want help with the bags, I try to smile at the sullen, I try to patiently listen to the elderly, I pull faces at the cops, laugh with road sweepers, I try to be.
…and yet today, I faltered, when I saw by the intersection on the road side, a very sickly woman, poorly dressed in frayed, faded something, a tangled bush of hair recently brushed and set back with a small ribbon tie. She had on purple eye shadow and neon pink lipstick. She was haunching on the pavement smelling like many other homeless people we never see when we pass them by.
Our bus driver called out to her loudly, affectionately and she ran over giddily, obviously very pleased with this familiar attention, all her crooked teeth splayed out in a huge rainbow smile.
Her obvious pleasure was evident shining through her glittering eyes, sparkling with a new found boost of confidence - she was so proud at being addressed as a friend, singled out as a dear acquaintance, a face amongst many - in the middle of nowhere, during an unforgiving traffic jam - a hundred eyes upon her.
In that defiant pink lipsticked wide grin - I understood, everything. All that is in this world needs to be acknowledged, re-assured of their presence, appreciated for their existence. For what would a Mother Teresa be if it weren’t for those less unfortunate that she felt for? What would a Prophet be if it were not for the Sinners? Every Dog poo has to exist to remind you how convenient it is to go the same path without smelling something so foul, so intimately routine.
A harshness of a slap only resounds deeper, if the cheek is soft and rosy. If it were not for the contrasts nothing would exist, nothing would be significant; it would be a flat bed of nothingness. I believe no Hell exists outside of this realm, because everything has a purpose of duality and a role to play out - for a Hero to be redeemed a Villain has to fall. We carry the weight of our own personal hells upon our shoulders of indifference, in the very silence of our voices, in the dismissiveness of a shrug, in the blatant disrespect of diversity, in despondency in the face of a life most vibrant.
Just to be, we have to stand our ground, and stand our ground as hard as we can, because a dog chases a coward but backs off from the one who confronts it squarely in the eye. So I try to be as good as I can for as bad as I was. I have to fall before I rise, but I having been falling for a long, long time. I just want to be kind and I want to be generous, so that I can learn to be observant without judging, for respecting everything that exists, for giving me a reason to exist. I am part of you, we exist within the foul excrement found on our footpaths, we exist in the mild temperament of the bees, within the galaxies of stars, and then you exist in me.
We are just the sky wearing masks of individuality.
