Last weekend I mistakenly blundered into a metal post on which was screwed a rather nasty looking bolt. The said bolt left a rather painful gash in my right side– which has made me excruciatingly aware of the frequency with which the skin on my side moves and stretches throughout any given day. While patching myself up, the following inner dialogue occured.
“Wow. This is quite a gash.”
“It’s sort of like your life right now. You know, the consqenences of foolish steps hurting you at every turn…”
“Yeah– it’s also a gash that is bleeding.”
“You short-sighted little girl, look at this as a opportunity to know your self. This wound is a metaphor by which you can understand the inticricies of your soul.”
“No. Actually, I think it is just a nasty scrape.”
Though less articulate, the voice of physical reality won out. We sometimes have this strange habit of not looking at things. We forget that a flower, or a mountianside (does any one reading this remember having this conversation over and over with Wheatstone students?) is first a beautiful physical reality worthy of being gazed at simply for itself. Maybe then it works itself into a potent metaphor, and a timely and appliable image of our life.
But, well, it is a difficult task, looking is. Last night night I went running after dinner– and the sky greeted me with a stunning gradation from deep, bright blue to warm, clear orange. My first thought was “this is like a major life transition, we’re not sure how it is ever going to change but then gradually …” but then I remembered myself … “NO. STOP RIGHT NOW AND JUST LOOK AT THE SUNSET. IT IS PRETTY.”
And it really is, when I open my eyes, and just look at it.
Just like the gash on my side is painful, when I feel it.
Becky
I linked to this in my last post, because I was trying to develop a similar argument, but not succeeding nearly as well.
Thanks for a great post!
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