Painting Reflections

When I learned to harvest the sun and draw it's brilliance into my home, I discovered that, in the window through which I view the outside world, I could see a reflection gazing back at me. The quieter I would dim the sun outside, the brighter it became inside and the clearer and more defined the image became.

It wasn't long before I discovered that I could paint on the glass with my words, and I cleverly proceeded to paint in the stencil of the reflection I saw, so that the image appeared more defined, constant and substantial. Granted, it didn't dance on the glass like the vague shadow did and it obscured my view of the outside, somewhat. But I found it considerably less disorienting once I used my words to paint in the outer vista as well. Then, it too, appeared stable and reliable, from any angle and in any light.

I was happy for a spell. The consistency of the picture felt reassuring, even pacifying, but somehow, I began to sense that something was missing. As easy and comfortable as it was to relate to the stable, two dimensional, polychromatic vision I'd created, that flat, unmoving picture was lifeless and, ultimately, uninspiring.

Misty memories still lingered. A world that moved, had weather and seasons, and offered sights inspiring wonder and surprise, daily, hourly, continually. The soft reflection that used to smile and dance with me, in expressions of spontaneous exuberance. And the window so clean and clear that it even let the breeze through.

Perhaps there was a flaw in my scheme. Maybe the uncertainty and inconsistency of a living world is better than the stability and predictability that accompanied my painted representations.

New habits, by then old and ingrained, I tried to use my words to paint the window clean. The images changed, became more defined in areas, perhaps more accurate. But the more words I applied the thicker and heavier the coating became.

My desire to see the way I used to was powerful. So I took some of my strongest words and ideas, shaped them into a chisel and tried to use it to scrape the pane clean. Who knew that mere words could set into such a hard, permanent and impenetrable barrier? The chisel chipped, sending only some small flakes flying, revealing still more layers of beliefs lying beneath, left over from fantasies past.

I tried different words and languages. I empowered my messages with different emotions and intentions, as I attempted to create the perfect solvent. As much and as long as I tried, I couldn't manage to cleanse the glass. After much effort, feeling completely powerless in this struggle, I sat down, exasperated and exhausted.

In my fatigue, there remained a remnant of my desire to see clearly once again, but no impetus to act. I just sat down and fell into silent surrender. My gaze, softly aimed in the general direction of the once window, soon detected a glimmer of outside coming through a tiny hole. I immediately focused my attention there trying to figure out what was happening, why it was happening and if it was really happening. As soon as I did so, new words added to old worries, they dripped over the shiny spec and, in an instant, it was gone.

So I sat again and stared at the window, willing an opening in my masterpiece, through which honest light could shine. All I accomplished was to give myself a headache. Tired and frustrated, I let go of my efforts and let my vision engulf the entirety of my surroundings. And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I did so, my artified verbiage began to thin and sag, hinting at it's true nature of insubstantiality.

In time, I learned that the most potent solvent is quiet surrender, and as I practiced the window became cleaner and clearer and, yes, I even began to feel fresh air flowing through the membrane, once again. I still clumsily spill words all over it from time to time, but can now feel my misstep as it's happening, and I know, full well, the value of clear vision and how to tidy up my messes, when need be. My world moves again. It sighs and cries, doles out extreme insights, and giggles like a baby. And I've rekindled my friendship with the malleable mystery man who's always ready to share a friendly smile with me.

I love my clean window and I accept that it's not always so. Brush teeth, wash dishes, clear the window. It's a duty and a desire – a part of fulfilling the obligations that I assumed in gratitude for this gift of being.

My experiences have inspired and empowered me to help others to see the illusions obscuring their own vision, and to provide them with the means to clear the field for themselves. It may not sound like much, to the uninitiated, and it often feels like I'm speaking to the air. But I can think of no more meaningful contribution to make with this life of mine – for the individuals I can reach and for the people and planet that they're shaping.

Surrender. Let the words fall away. Let the light in. Let the world begin, again.