A Word To My Reader
I am not a perfect voice calling out in the dark, but a broken voice calling out in the dark. I have not said anything perfectly, nor have I ever touched on perfection flawlessly. Every element I speak on found here will fall short on every degree because of the breadth and width of which the topic expands (both logically and emotionally). In fact the only thing I can come closest to in explaining perfectly would be my brokenness, because that, I know better than perfection. I can only try to speak about the glimpses of perfection I have seen in my life. Please bear that in mind as you read. I hope that these compositions can bring further light to the honest depths and heights that life teaches us about ourselves, the world around us, and the starter of this all, God.
As Phillip Lopate says, in reading this you will learn more about my “habits of thought” than the activities that actually make up my day to day. I do not assume that most will want to read any of this, but for the one who is feeling lost or confused, for the one who is trying to find reason to keep living, for the one who is fighting against himself, others, or his God, and desiring to better understand why, I hope these pieces of writing might be a friend to you. I hope they push you to press on, to appreciate living (and working), to appreciate the smallest of moments with a family member, close friend, or stranger. I hope they move you to explore and imagine, to find the “why” behind anything, and to trust that though we have a finite understanding, the One who is infinite has been made accessible to mankind. Mankind meaning you and me, and there is no small amount of peace to be found in that truth.
P.S. I attached a song to the bottom of each composition to accompany its reading. Enjoy!
Silhouettes
(August 12, 2020)
I kind of have an obsession with silhouettes. When hanging out with me past 6 o’clock, you’ll usually find my eyes drifting onto the edges of mountains, to the arms of trees, or to the top points of buildings. I’ll stare at humans in the distance jumping and playing, and I swear I can hear the laughter and shouts coming from them though I’m a mile away. I know not their name or life, but I know them to be the timeless spirits of human beings living their beautiful life.
A silhouette is a meek yet bold sort of thing. It is as if the spirit of the object is humbly saying, “here I am in my truest form.” My eyes notice no color or discolor, no rip or mend, no living or dead leaf, no broken or fixed window, but simply the spirit of the object itself: the spirit of the building, the spirit of the tree, the spirit of a human. The silhouette does not ask to be looked at, it does not flicker any light at your eye, and yet, when you notice it (the edges, the bold points against the backdrop of blue and yellow hues), it’s as if the object rewards you for noticing. It shows you its truest, most basic form, a timeless form, that will be taken on again by another tree, another building, or another human after it. It no longer stands as a colorful dot on the horizon, but it becomes a part of the bigger shape of this earth; it becomes an edge to this universe.