Sitting upon my stony perch I reflect upon my seat. How long has his rock stood here on this spot like a dutiful guardian protecting the busy stream as it rushes by? The chips and scars upon its gray-brown face hint that it has endured things harder and deeper than any passerby might suspect. The frozen months of life are never kind, as they break and mold you. The grandiose time of youth is whittled down through the years, under sun and rain, until even we cannot recognize our own end product. Did anyone stand as sentinel during your carving other than the silent groves? The trees come and go, as old friends give way to new, they they are unable to offer physical help as they can only give strength through the steady examples of their own legacies. Becoming organic compasses that offer direction through the storms as their slender bodies show the way to heaven. Nicks and cuts do not always disfigure – No. Often times what most see as scarring is a misinterpretation for polish. If collected while performing our duty they offer us a noble countenance. Would anyone care Rock, if you were to give in to the current, to be picked and cracked a scattered into the ocean of the unknown? Probably not. Yet here you are. Your effort is often unnoticed by casual onlookers, but not to the Creator. Every action is seen by Him who owns this world. He gives us the ability to be strong so that we can support the burdens we have to bear. You have nothing to prove to anybody else but yourself. Not the droplets of water that bounce off your back, or the plants that grow beneath your shady overhang. What you do is for you, since it is you that will have to confront your final destiny and look back on the decisions you faced. Deep down if you know you can do it, why give in to mediocrity and apathy, instead of embracing your divine potential? And so the rock stands. Quiet, but honorable, it Stands.
3 comments:
Trav, I like your blog. That picture is sweet. The line that I liked the most, is the line where you talk about nics and scars being misinterpreted for polish. That is very true of so many facets of life. The one thing that I dont understand 100% is the relationship between the trees and the rock. The reason being, that a rock lasts longer then a tree, and so i was wondering, who wathces who and who is the senior sentinal? That was my only q, but its more of my interpretaion than anything. Bien Hecho.
Profound thinking here: the idea that nicks and bumps are polishing us rather than scarring us. That thought alone is one I will ponder for a while. Like Charla's favorite photography who believes that we should embrace awkwardness in our art instead of shunning or manipulating it. But I digress. I like this piece. Can you polish it into a fuller essay by adding specific personal experiences, etc.?
I really enjoyed your insights. I like the idea that we do not know our own end products. We often think of about what we are, instead of what we can become. Maybe we should focus on that more? You mentioned the "frozen months" (great description by the way) that are difficult, and I wonder what you would consider our frozen months. I particularly enjoyed your conversation with the rock: "Would anyone care Rock, if you were to give in to the current...?" Your writing had a nice balance of familiar and formal.
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