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Beams and Talons

[an abstract piece describing my experience of recently becoming someone with low vision blindness]

This throbbing within my head is pounding; enough to the extent of which I can relate to every beam of some safe structure that has been riveted in such a fashion where so many other facets and arms of support have just been pressed and anchored upon it to uphold their own strength.

Even in the quiet still, the echoes of the drilling and the sounds akin to crepitus continue to ripple as the fibres ache from breaks and cracking under the spinning of bits and pressures of affixation. This beam is now attempting to settle calmly despite the restricted ability to adjust to the drops in temperature that surrounds it; changes of which seem arbitrary and are outside of its control.

barn-beams-2Under all this, and as are the beams of safe structures, I am somehow to remain as the bearer of immeasurable weight. As I am grateful and understanding of this cause, the sounds of joy from those who find comfort beneath my outstretched purpose are piercing as they are wound. The smiles from the surety of the resulted proper efforts are a new exchange of trust as I’m now only to believe they’re there through assumption and contextual implication.

The sight of them are beyond my scope. What lies unspoken remains unheard in ways I dread to be forced to acknowledge; a means by which exists through causes I cannot control.

The warmth they intend to give is known to me, however, it’s cold up here. It’s unsettling, yet I am to remain calm in all this lest they realise I’m now needing the anchoring of their support in ways I have not understood how to communicate down the wire. I remain steadfast, constant, unmovable; perhaps to a fault.

The distances from the sounds within this safe structure resonate with currents of energy that surge upward; enough to illuminate a vision of distraction as everything worth reaching for are, in that moment, closer than they appear. Perhaps I’m just attempting to convince myself of this closeness of distance.

owl-sleep-snowHowever, I am certain that my eyes feel as though they are where a comfortable owl’s talons have securely found his perch on what has been identified as a most sturdy beam. Unbeknownst to this owl deep into slumber, the restfulness of his posture is his alone as is the timing of when he’ll decide to take his leave.

Thus, in hesitation, the pit in my stomach is quietly preparing for a stir of which has a likelihood of growth; the uneasiness only enough to be ahead of itself so it may have sooner departure due to already being on it’s way out from a worn welcome. Yet this same stirring is restricted in such a way that I’d remain capable of exchanging such anticipation for the lightness of which can only come from a countering pleasant surprise.

I am still hopeful that surprise will be more than pleasant as such will be the sight of three perfectly arranged freckles on the nose of the most beautiful countenance created as she’s gracing me with the privilege of being the cause of her smile.

I pray mine own riveting causes not similar discomfort as she has been so kind, so selfless, as to take upon herself the weight of my beam.

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Posted by on December 30, 2016 in Purpose

 

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Not Far From the Tree

If I were only strong enough, good enough, brave enough. If I were only as clever as you, as personable as you, as smart as you. Maybe others would notice me, love me, and accept me if I were more attractive, less shy, and not as whatever it is that makes me feel so lacking, so out of place.

These are the kind of things that echo in everyone’s mind at some point or another. The origins of this negativity comes from an infinite number of sources and can quantify to be just as impacting, just as hurtful, in more ways than could ever be counted. As much as we struggle with give and take with others, we must also reach within to give ourselves permission to take the opportunity to accept our own differences and see them as a source of growth rather than a means of disappointment, grief, and fear.

We have this urge to “compare apples to oranges”, but is there"In a Pear Tree" © 2011 Karen Mathison Schmidt really that much of a difference between us? Because at the end of the day, we’re still growing from this ever reaching source, rooted from where we stand in our strongest place. We all have our bows and breaks, knots and turns; roughness left from unforgiving storms.

Yet even still, we have in our own ways an ability to continue to capture water and light, transforming our most delicate outreach into brilliant blossoms; all for the purpose of sharing the sweetest of our fruits with those of whom take comfort in our shade.

Weathering withstood was never meant for the benefit of ourselves.

In the comfort of that shade, the differences don’t matter any more. It is all forgotten. So long as there’s fruit to be shared, there’s growth and strength, shade and comfort. And it is ever so sweet.

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2014 in Purpose

 

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