“I’m getting to the point where I think I’m getting used to it, You know?” The Canvas stretched her little self a bit while opening yet another dialogue with her beloved Artist.
“Used to what, my dear?” He replied.
“Um...used to not knowing what exactly You’re doing on Your side. I guess that’s how you’d put it. But that doesn’t mean I like it. Though I wish it did mean that."
Smiling, the Painter nodded His head, intimating that He understood where she was coming from but still quiet.
“Like, every once in a while I get glimpses of what You’re doing. But really, they’re more like glimpses of what You were doing when a certain color was happening or a texture was being made, like we were talking about before. And then, it’ll make a bit of sense why I needed to go through it and it makes me so grateful that I did.”
She took a little breath and tried to think about her words for a moment before she went on.
“So, I guess what I’m saying is that I love it when You sometimes show me just a little sliver of the image that I am right now. Like You said before, I’ll never know what I’m going to be until I’m on Your side of things or even the whole of the picture that I am now. But, I love it when sometimes You reveal to me a little piece of how I look to You so far. And it just seems like after something hard that we do, I get those moments--like, You let me have them. It’s as if it’s just what I need to get through the next...whatever it is. And thank You so much, by the way, Master. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that before.”
The Painter smiled and his countenance grew more and more creatively pensive. The Canvas was observing the beautiful changes written across His features when He spoke.
“Let me tell you something about yourself. I think you’re ready for me to more fully articulate this to you.” He paused for a moment as if to contemplate how best she would connect with what He was trying to say.
“The way I made you is that you tend to approach the details of a situation via the big picture. In other words, you like to start with the ‘big picture’ and then work your way down through the the details and figure out inventively how to make that bigger image fit together. This is a beautiful quality in relating to those around you--and I gave that gift to you for a reason, but part of your journey with Me is learning that My process with you doesn’t work that way. I am the Master and Prescient of your Greater Picture. It’s hard for you because you want to start at the end and work out your own way in the means--or at the very least be in the loop about all the details of of them. And that’s not possible right now.”
A peaceful awe filled the little Canvas’ heart when she heard her Master’s expression of this principle apparently innate and maybe unique in her. It was her turn to remain a little wordless as she began to try and wrap her consciousness around what He was saying while He continued.
“But it belongs to my character that I do know the End and ends of every last thing and situation--for I am omniscient but I still choose and love to experience every last dimension of the said means. You’ll never be omniscient as I am, little one, but it is my desire that in our relationship you’ll learn to trust Me with all of your ends, and just experience the means in Me, to the fullest. Remember that I painted my Son on the wall over there...”
He paused again as both of their eyes were naturally drawn to the most wholly exquisite of all the paintings in the little studio, and proceeded to complete His thought of the moment: “...so that you might have life and the process that you’re in, and that you might have it, like I said, to the fullest. He made that possible.”
She glanced back toward the marks in the Master's hand and recalled a recent conversation about how that same beautiful painting fit into the story behind His scarring.
“Even more, dear one, just as I am painting you much like the image of my Son--and just as He is the image of Me--in the same manner, I wish for you to emulate the image of My character the way He does in His portrait. This area of My character is no exception and I want You to understand that I give you those moments that you described so that you might remember to trust Me, like you said, when it’s hard. I want you learn to experience the means to an end in a fashion worthy of my Son’s image, and be able to fully relinquish all of your ends to Me.”
This time a slightly deeper breath was due the little Canvas before she could reply to any of the wisdom the Master had just related. Colors shone and reverberated to the onlooker’s eye while she sorted through her thoughts and emotion.
“Well, Master, I thought I was becoming a little more content in this area, but I see now that I’m not quite at the place that You’re talking about. I’m so glad You just told me all that. I’ve got a long way to go, huh?”
The Painter chuckled. “Yes, my dear. But remember that a part of Me being able to experience all the means while knowing the ends like I just explained, is that I really enjoy your process as much as I look forward to your completion. I hope that you can too, one day.”
She sighed. She felt like she was always sighing, but it was a good thing, she supposed. It usually meant she was learning.
“You know, I’m not sure what You’re painting at this very moment, Master, but it’s not as painful at the moment as that last color was.”
“Well, don’t assume that I’m done with that color, love. Like I said, trust Me.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’m sorry...there I go again. I guess I just meant that some of the techniques that You work out on me are tougher than others. And what You’re doing right now doesn’t hurt as bad as the pain last time, remember?”
She knew He did, because she watched Him hurt as well whenever she was in pain. “Although, I do get pangs of it every once in a while.” She added.
“Yes, honey. A part of my role as your Artist is knowing what you can handle at any point. I’d love you to know and remember always that whatever pain you are going through--I’ve given you every resource you need to get through it the way that you should, and by that I mean the best way. Remember best?”
“Yeah....Most of the time I remember best. Or maybe just some of the time.”
The Painter laughed, communicating to her once again how much he adored her candor.
“I want to so bad, Master!”
“I know You do!” He responded, beaming. “But just appreciate the process.”
“So, Master...?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“So, whatever I’m going through You’ve weighed, and know I can bear it unto best--but is it true that You’ve planned it all in advance?”
“Yes indeed. However, do you remember when we talked about how you have to let Me work My process out in You?”
“Um, yeah. You said that sometimes I may let other things work themselves into my journey that may not be Your best for me.”
“Right.” He nodded. “But also remember that I will still nonetheless work all of those things into your image for the good because you love Me.”
“You’re amazing, Master.”
Emotion flashed across His face and she felt like she couldn’t adore Him any more than she did. But it continuously astounded her, too, that her love for Him grew deeper daily. This then lead her to contemplate for a moment how her Master Artist was the biggest living paradox that she knew. Even though it frustrated her at times, she also loved it and was so glad that He was such a thing.
“I want to spend the rest of my journey and beyond getting to understand this and You, Painter.”
“I’m so glad, my love. That’s what you’re meant for. And that’s what will make you happiest, even though it’s counterintuitive. Keep persevering, I love you.”
“So...when’s the next hard color coming?” She precociously inserted, causing the Painter to roar with laughter.
“Oh, honey! That is not for you to know either! You know that.
It was she who beamed this time. “I know, Master. I just thought I’d try.”
And then, as most of their conversations seemed to end, His eye glimmered just a bit and He almost imperceptibly winked at her, His hand not skipping a beat of His work.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Studio Dialogue
“That color hurts, Master.” Whimpered the little canvas.
“I know it does, my dear. Do you not see my hand cramp up while I paint it on?” responded the Painter.
“You mean it hurts You too?”
“Oh yes. More than you know.”
“Well, anyway I thought You’d already painted that color on me?”
“Well, I have, sort of. You see, what you perceive the color to be is only a shadow and faint representation of what it really is from My perspective. Because actually, what you perceive to be just one color over and over is really many different shades of one category of color. I often layer them to create a new color in the end; and sometimes I use different brushes to create different textures. Also, just because I gave you this color in one area doesn’t mean I won’t ever apply it to another. But to answer your question: in a way I have already done this from your perspective, but I have truly never rendered you this shade.”
“I don’t get it.”
The Painter smiled so wide and so genuinely that the canvas thought His face was going to break, even though it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Darling, of course you don’t. You won’t until you’re finished and on my side of things.”
“When is that going to be, Master?”
This time the Painter let the laughter out that the conversation had been building in Him.
“When you learn that questions like that have only one answer.” He said, still laughing.
“What’s the answer?”
“In time. In My time.” He stated, more solemnly after a moment.
“Oh Master, Your hand is trembling...and oh! It hurts!” she breathed.
“I know, my dear, I know.”
“Master, what if we save us both the pain and skip this color?!”
“If that’s what you really want. But I just want to remind you....”
“I know, I know...You say it every time.”
“I say what?”
“What You were just going to say.”
“And what’s that? Let’s hear it from you.”
“Well...that...that when I wanted You to be my Master and asked to look like that One over there,” she said, referring to the most beautiful painting in all the room, “You told me it would hurt but also that...”
“That what?”
“That it would be worth it. And I believed You.”
The Painter grinned again.
“That was such a beautiful moment. That was soon after I had made you a white canvas again by bleeding out the picture already there...remember when you first believed that I could do that? That was all it took. And then when you knew it didn’t stop there--”
“Yeah, I do remember that!” She cut in, excitedly. “I also remember that I used to look a lot like some other paintings around me before that day....” And she continued on that note--less excited, “Actually, sometimes I feel like the painting that I used to be was so ugly and strong that it seeps through the white and even the painting of me that You’ve begun.”
“Yes, you did bear some resemblance to those around you. Though you were always unique--just as you are now. And even now in your process you’re still ever so unique and beautiful even if I’m still working on you. Don’t forget that.”
He continued speaking to her so patiently, while she marveled at His voice. It always sounded the same overall, but she also never stopped noticing new qualities about it. This time she remarked the the soothing, innate rhythm of His speech:
“And if you ever feel like what you used to be is showing through My work, it’s because you’re letting it and even clinging to it at times. What you once were has been completely bled from your canvas. And I’ve given you everything you need to not let that old self reign over you. But it’s not easy, I know--as simple as it may sound. I know it might be hard to for you to believe at times, but there really isn’t any temptation or facet of what you go through that I don’t understand.”
“It’s just good to hear you remind me of that every once in a while, Master,” she said, still thoughtful.
“I know, and I want you to just tell me whenever you need to hear it, my dear. But I have a question for you.”
“You do?! Ask me!”
“Do you still believe Me that it’s going to be worth it?”
She paused, wishing she weren’t feeling all the emotions that seemed to be taking her over. The internal war in her seemed to come back way too often. Eventually, almost wincing, she said,
“Yes, Master, with all my heart--well, the larger part of it anyway, just to be honest. Please....”
“Please what?” said the Master with a tear in his eye.
“Oh, it hurts to even say, but please keep painting! No matter how much it hurts. It’s all so true and He’s so beautiful over there--that One I want You to make me look like....”
“He is. And I can’t even express it to you in terms you’ll understand, but I can tell you that if you let me keep going you’ll still be yourself and you’ll be as unique as ever, but you’ll look an awful lot like Him too.”
“How does that work, Master?”
He laughed again and she beamed, not understanding how such an inquiry could have given him mirth, but glad it did.
“That’s what I mean about how I can’t put it terms you’ll understand right now. I guess you’ll just have to trust Me.”
“Ok, if You say so. Oh, I do want to look like Him.”
“Wanna know something?”
“Um, of course. I always do!”
“He looks a lot like Me.” He whispered, in a veritably similar manner that one would divulge a secret--though she knew it wasn’t.
When she looked and once more realized the resemblance she exclaimed in awe, “It’s true! Oh how he does! You’ve told me that before, but how come I forget to see that all the time?!”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of things going on in your process. But by pursuing conversation with Me, you can let Me be the One to remind you. That’s important, because without this dialogue, I can’t really continue to the best of my abilities--which are Ultimate.”
“You mean, if I quit paying attention to You, You can’t paint me anymore?”
“No, that’s not entirely true, for I am the Master Painter, but it’s different and certainly not as beautiful. You’ll always be in process, it just makes a difference whether it’s the process I have for you or not. I can always use whatever other process you let happen in your life, but it may not be what I could have done. But I can tell you this: the colors that get brushed on your canvas without My bidding hurt Me more than the ones that are of My will.”
She let this soak in a moment and then passionately stated, “I don’t want any one to paint me but You, Master!” Then she added, puzzled, “But I always thought that my questions would bother you. I didn’t know that you actually wanted or liked this kind of conversation.”
“On the contrary! It’s the conversations that we have that keep Me in the position of your Master and Artist. You might feel like you’re asking the same questions over and over again--kind of like you feel that you get painted with the same color over and over again--but from My perspective I see so many more nuances and shades to what’s going on than you’ll ever know. And you know what else?”
She squirmed a bit, wondering and trying to predict what was coming--as she was all too often wont to do, “What?”
“What’s amazing is that your honesty with Me shines through in your colors and gives them a brighter quality than anything else can.”
She hadn’t forseen such a response. “My questions shine through?! And that’s good?!”
He laughed again, and she felt relieved that he wasn’t angry with her perpetually inquisitive nature.
“You can only have an inkling! It’s incredible and it reminds Me over and over how much I love you! But more than that, I just love talking to you. That’s why I started you in the first place.”
“Hm. I guess it must just be me, but sometimes I’ve felt like You must just wish I would stop asking questions.”
“Never, my dear. It’s My heart’s desire that you articulate to Me what’s going on inside of you. But I do want you to be content if I don’t answer the way you want Me to sometimes.”
She sighed, “That happens a lot.”
He grinned even bigger than He had before. She never ceased to be amazed that such a thing was even possible.
“Darling one, I know it does. That’s because sometimes, if not often, the answer you want isn’t the best one.”
“But I always think it through!” She began to get a little frustrated, “I examine all of the options and pick the best answer and....”
Once more, laughter from the Master filled the studio.
“No honey, you only examine the options that you see! You cannot see everything from your flat perspective! You have to let it be and let Me be as I am. As hard as it is for you, I promise you that I always have your best interest in mind. And by best, I mean My best. Not what you think or want to be best. I will never harm you.”
“So this pain that I’m feeling isn’t harm?”
“Absolutely not. I know it feels like harm, but in reality it’s your journey to best. Best is a difficult destination. And it’s painful. But like I said, it’s worth it.”
“OK, so--just to clarify, and not to be dramatic--but this excruciating color is a part of my journey to best and to look like Him? And You?” Once more she gazed at the painting that she so wanted to resemble, and then back at the Master’s poised hand.
“Exactly.”
“Wow.” She said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“I love You.”
“I love You too.” He choked a bit on the lump in His throat that she couldn’t perceive and then breathed,
“Let’s continue with this color, shall we? Once we’re done with this we can move on. But don’t rush it either, OK?”
“OK, but I’m sorry you have to feel my pain too, Master.”
“Oh, but I’m not, my dear! For it means that you are a part of me!”
“What?! I don’t deserve that! You’re so different from me...so...perfect!”
“Yes. I am. But you should also know that it has become a possibility for you to be a part of Me because of that One who hangs on that wall over there--the One you want to look like.”
“OK, I’m gonna say it again: I don’t get it and how does that work?”
“Well, that painting is of My Son. That’s where the resemblance comes in. He became like you and spent His life in process and letting me paint Him perfectly and without blemish so that You could have that opportunity as well. There’s a lot more to the story, but if you look at my hands and the scars that are left from Me painting His journey--and let Me tell you it hurt--you may understand a bit more why I can feel your pain and how it is that you can be a part of Me. And these scars may also help you remember where the blood came from that bled your past image away to make your canvas so clean. Don’t worry, though, if you don’t fully grasp it. It’s something that you may never fully apprehend while you exist as the canvas that you are. But you’ll get it one day when you’re finished and you can jump off that flat thing and into my arms. Until then, just believe. It’s your belief that allowed Me to whitewash you when We started, but it will be your perseverant faith in My abilities as your Artist and belief that it’s worth it that will get you where we both want you to go: I want you to look like Him too.”
“I think I might be starting to get it. But I may need You to tell me again soon after I think about it for a bit. And probably when another color comes that hurts again.”
“Well, my dear creation, I never tire of telling this story.”
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“I love You.”
“I love you too.”
“And I am going to learn to love these...um...colors.”
“OK, but be patient with yourself. That’s attainable, albeit ambitious.”
“I want to see me from Your perspective someday.”
“That, my dear, is a promise. Someday and in My time.”
“There’s that answer again....” She sighed once more, only this time just slightly more contentedly.
And the Painter, knowing that words were not always necessary just smiled and winked at her--His eyes seeming to glisten even more than usual. Indeed, He was beautiful.
This is for Mary: I thought of you while writing this.
-T. Emerson
“I know it does, my dear. Do you not see my hand cramp up while I paint it on?” responded the Painter.
“You mean it hurts You too?”
“Oh yes. More than you know.”
“Well, anyway I thought You’d already painted that color on me?”
“Well, I have, sort of. You see, what you perceive the color to be is only a shadow and faint representation of what it really is from My perspective. Because actually, what you perceive to be just one color over and over is really many different shades of one category of color. I often layer them to create a new color in the end; and sometimes I use different brushes to create different textures. Also, just because I gave you this color in one area doesn’t mean I won’t ever apply it to another. But to answer your question: in a way I have already done this from your perspective, but I have truly never rendered you this shade.”
“I don’t get it.”
The Painter smiled so wide and so genuinely that the canvas thought His face was going to break, even though it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Darling, of course you don’t. You won’t until you’re finished and on my side of things.”
“When is that going to be, Master?”
This time the Painter let the laughter out that the conversation had been building in Him.
“When you learn that questions like that have only one answer.” He said, still laughing.
“What’s the answer?”
“In time. In My time.” He stated, more solemnly after a moment.
“Oh Master, Your hand is trembling...and oh! It hurts!” she breathed.
“I know, my dear, I know.”
“Master, what if we save us both the pain and skip this color?!”
“If that’s what you really want. But I just want to remind you....”
“I know, I know...You say it every time.”
“I say what?”
“What You were just going to say.”
“And what’s that? Let’s hear it from you.”
“Well...that...that when I wanted You to be my Master and asked to look like that One over there,” she said, referring to the most beautiful painting in all the room, “You told me it would hurt but also that...”
“That what?”
“That it would be worth it. And I believed You.”
The Painter grinned again.
“That was such a beautiful moment. That was soon after I had made you a white canvas again by bleeding out the picture already there...remember when you first believed that I could do that? That was all it took. And then when you knew it didn’t stop there--”
“Yeah, I do remember that!” She cut in, excitedly. “I also remember that I used to look a lot like some other paintings around me before that day....” And she continued on that note--less excited, “Actually, sometimes I feel like the painting that I used to be was so ugly and strong that it seeps through the white and even the painting of me that You’ve begun.”
“Yes, you did bear some resemblance to those around you. Though you were always unique--just as you are now. And even now in your process you’re still ever so unique and beautiful even if I’m still working on you. Don’t forget that.”
He continued speaking to her so patiently, while she marveled at His voice. It always sounded the same overall, but she also never stopped noticing new qualities about it. This time she remarked the the soothing, innate rhythm of His speech:
“And if you ever feel like what you used to be is showing through My work, it’s because you’re letting it and even clinging to it at times. What you once were has been completely bled from your canvas. And I’ve given you everything you need to not let that old self reign over you. But it’s not easy, I know--as simple as it may sound. I know it might be hard to for you to believe at times, but there really isn’t any temptation or facet of what you go through that I don’t understand.”
“It’s just good to hear you remind me of that every once in a while, Master,” she said, still thoughtful.
“I know, and I want you to just tell me whenever you need to hear it, my dear. But I have a question for you.”
“You do?! Ask me!”
“Do you still believe Me that it’s going to be worth it?”
She paused, wishing she weren’t feeling all the emotions that seemed to be taking her over. The internal war in her seemed to come back way too often. Eventually, almost wincing, she said,
“Yes, Master, with all my heart--well, the larger part of it anyway, just to be honest. Please....”
“Please what?” said the Master with a tear in his eye.
“Oh, it hurts to even say, but please keep painting! No matter how much it hurts. It’s all so true and He’s so beautiful over there--that One I want You to make me look like....”
“He is. And I can’t even express it to you in terms you’ll understand, but I can tell you that if you let me keep going you’ll still be yourself and you’ll be as unique as ever, but you’ll look an awful lot like Him too.”
“How does that work, Master?”
He laughed again and she beamed, not understanding how such an inquiry could have given him mirth, but glad it did.
“That’s what I mean about how I can’t put it terms you’ll understand right now. I guess you’ll just have to trust Me.”
“Ok, if You say so. Oh, I do want to look like Him.”
“Wanna know something?”
“Um, of course. I always do!”
“He looks a lot like Me.” He whispered, in a veritably similar manner that one would divulge a secret--though she knew it wasn’t.
When she looked and once more realized the resemblance she exclaimed in awe, “It’s true! Oh how he does! You’ve told me that before, but how come I forget to see that all the time?!”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of things going on in your process. But by pursuing conversation with Me, you can let Me be the One to remind you. That’s important, because without this dialogue, I can’t really continue to the best of my abilities--which are Ultimate.”
“You mean, if I quit paying attention to You, You can’t paint me anymore?”
“No, that’s not entirely true, for I am the Master Painter, but it’s different and certainly not as beautiful. You’ll always be in process, it just makes a difference whether it’s the process I have for you or not. I can always use whatever other process you let happen in your life, but it may not be what I could have done. But I can tell you this: the colors that get brushed on your canvas without My bidding hurt Me more than the ones that are of My will.”
She let this soak in a moment and then passionately stated, “I don’t want any one to paint me but You, Master!” Then she added, puzzled, “But I always thought that my questions would bother you. I didn’t know that you actually wanted or liked this kind of conversation.”
“On the contrary! It’s the conversations that we have that keep Me in the position of your Master and Artist. You might feel like you’re asking the same questions over and over again--kind of like you feel that you get painted with the same color over and over again--but from My perspective I see so many more nuances and shades to what’s going on than you’ll ever know. And you know what else?”
She squirmed a bit, wondering and trying to predict what was coming--as she was all too often wont to do, “What?”
“What’s amazing is that your honesty with Me shines through in your colors and gives them a brighter quality than anything else can.”
She hadn’t forseen such a response. “My questions shine through?! And that’s good?!”
He laughed again, and she felt relieved that he wasn’t angry with her perpetually inquisitive nature.
“You can only have an inkling! It’s incredible and it reminds Me over and over how much I love you! But more than that, I just love talking to you. That’s why I started you in the first place.”
“Hm. I guess it must just be me, but sometimes I’ve felt like You must just wish I would stop asking questions.”
“Never, my dear. It’s My heart’s desire that you articulate to Me what’s going on inside of you. But I do want you to be content if I don’t answer the way you want Me to sometimes.”
She sighed, “That happens a lot.”
He grinned even bigger than He had before. She never ceased to be amazed that such a thing was even possible.
“Darling one, I know it does. That’s because sometimes, if not often, the answer you want isn’t the best one.”
“But I always think it through!” She began to get a little frustrated, “I examine all of the options and pick the best answer and....”
Once more, laughter from the Master filled the studio.
“No honey, you only examine the options that you see! You cannot see everything from your flat perspective! You have to let it be and let Me be as I am. As hard as it is for you, I promise you that I always have your best interest in mind. And by best, I mean My best. Not what you think or want to be best. I will never harm you.”
“So this pain that I’m feeling isn’t harm?”
“Absolutely not. I know it feels like harm, but in reality it’s your journey to best. Best is a difficult destination. And it’s painful. But like I said, it’s worth it.”
“OK, so--just to clarify, and not to be dramatic--but this excruciating color is a part of my journey to best and to look like Him? And You?” Once more she gazed at the painting that she so wanted to resemble, and then back at the Master’s poised hand.
“Exactly.”
“Wow.” She said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“I love You.”
“I love You too.” He choked a bit on the lump in His throat that she couldn’t perceive and then breathed,
“Let’s continue with this color, shall we? Once we’re done with this we can move on. But don’t rush it either, OK?”
“OK, but I’m sorry you have to feel my pain too, Master.”
“Oh, but I’m not, my dear! For it means that you are a part of me!”
“What?! I don’t deserve that! You’re so different from me...so...perfect!”
“Yes. I am. But you should also know that it has become a possibility for you to be a part of Me because of that One who hangs on that wall over there--the One you want to look like.”
“OK, I’m gonna say it again: I don’t get it and how does that work?”
“Well, that painting is of My Son. That’s where the resemblance comes in. He became like you and spent His life in process and letting me paint Him perfectly and without blemish so that You could have that opportunity as well. There’s a lot more to the story, but if you look at my hands and the scars that are left from Me painting His journey--and let Me tell you it hurt--you may understand a bit more why I can feel your pain and how it is that you can be a part of Me. And these scars may also help you remember where the blood came from that bled your past image away to make your canvas so clean. Don’t worry, though, if you don’t fully grasp it. It’s something that you may never fully apprehend while you exist as the canvas that you are. But you’ll get it one day when you’re finished and you can jump off that flat thing and into my arms. Until then, just believe. It’s your belief that allowed Me to whitewash you when We started, but it will be your perseverant faith in My abilities as your Artist and belief that it’s worth it that will get you where we both want you to go: I want you to look like Him too.”
“I think I might be starting to get it. But I may need You to tell me again soon after I think about it for a bit. And probably when another color comes that hurts again.”
“Well, my dear creation, I never tire of telling this story.”
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“I love You.”
“I love you too.”
“And I am going to learn to love these...um...colors.”
“OK, but be patient with yourself. That’s attainable, albeit ambitious.”
“I want to see me from Your perspective someday.”
“That, my dear, is a promise. Someday and in My time.”
“There’s that answer again....” She sighed once more, only this time just slightly more contentedly.
And the Painter, knowing that words were not always necessary just smiled and winked at her--His eyes seeming to glisten even more than usual. Indeed, He was beautiful.
This is for Mary: I thought of you while writing this.
-T. Emerson
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
[sans titre]
Il y avait une fois, tu te souviens, j’éspère, où nous faisions de la randonné avec nos amis et nous parlions de la littérature--toi et moi. Nous ignorions nos amis et ils nous ignoraient aussi--qui sait ce dont ils parlaient, eux. Il faisait trop beau ce jour-là. Nous étions en Alaska et nous avions peur des ours. Il y en avait, en fait, trop près, je me souviens, mais on ne l’a pas vu, heuresement. Je pense de temps en temps à cette belle journée que nous avons tous passé ensemble.
Je crois que tu me raccontais d’Ernest Hemmingway. Comme tu l’aimais! Et probablement je t’écoutais en te disant que je ne l’ai jamais vraiment lu. Et puis je t’ai regardé pendant que tu as ramassé une petite roche.
Tu m’as dit que tu les collectionnais, ces “roches”. Que, parfois lorsque tu étais en train d’avoir une bonne conversation avec quelqu’un, tu cherchais à trouver une petite chose à garder pour te faire souvenir et non oublier cette conversation dans laquelle tu existais à l’instant. C’était parfois une roche--comme cette fois--et parfois d’autre chose insignificante. C’était une vraiment belle chose...je ne l’ai jamais vraiment oublié.
Je t’aimais, tu sais. Mais pas comme tu voulais ou comme tu m’aimais, toi. Je t'aimais bien. Mais même dans ce moment-là j’étais désolée que je ne pouvais jamais t’aimer comme tu probablement voulais. Il est tant vrai que je n’aurais jamais rien pu changer à propos aux sentiments. Je suis encore désolée que je t’ai blessé. Mais je t’aimais. Ne le doute jamais. Et tu me manques, maintenant, quand-même.
Mais tu n’étais point personne contente ou complète. Je t’aimais, mais pas comme ça. Je ne sais quoi dire.
J’éspère qu’un jour tu trouves ce que tu cherches. Pas même ce que tu crois que tu cherche--mais ce que tu cherches vraiment et profondement. Un jour, je prie que tes questions--par lesquelles ton âme est un peu hanté--soient répondues.
Je t’aime mon ami. Encore. Je pense souvent à toi, et je te donne à Dieu. Et un jour, je vais adorer Hemmingway aussi. Je vais apprendre.
Je crois que tu me raccontais d’Ernest Hemmingway. Comme tu l’aimais! Et probablement je t’écoutais en te disant que je ne l’ai jamais vraiment lu. Et puis je t’ai regardé pendant que tu as ramassé une petite roche.
Tu m’as dit que tu les collectionnais, ces “roches”. Que, parfois lorsque tu étais en train d’avoir une bonne conversation avec quelqu’un, tu cherchais à trouver une petite chose à garder pour te faire souvenir et non oublier cette conversation dans laquelle tu existais à l’instant. C’était parfois une roche--comme cette fois--et parfois d’autre chose insignificante. C’était une vraiment belle chose...je ne l’ai jamais vraiment oublié.
Je t’aimais, tu sais. Mais pas comme tu voulais ou comme tu m’aimais, toi. Je t'aimais bien. Mais même dans ce moment-là j’étais désolée que je ne pouvais jamais t’aimer comme tu probablement voulais. Il est tant vrai que je n’aurais jamais rien pu changer à propos aux sentiments. Je suis encore désolée que je t’ai blessé. Mais je t’aimais. Ne le doute jamais. Et tu me manques, maintenant, quand-même.
Mais tu n’étais point personne contente ou complète. Je t’aimais, mais pas comme ça. Je ne sais quoi dire.
J’éspère qu’un jour tu trouves ce que tu cherches. Pas même ce que tu crois que tu cherche--mais ce que tu cherches vraiment et profondement. Un jour, je prie que tes questions--par lesquelles ton âme est un peu hanté--soient répondues.
Je t’aime mon ami. Encore. Je pense souvent à toi, et je te donne à Dieu. Et un jour, je vais adorer Hemmingway aussi. Je vais apprendre.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Impressionism (Revamped)
'Tis not the time of life
To be merely suffered through
It's rather to be savoured--
Every moment known as true.
The Painter has a vision
To which the Canvas is not privy,
Tis only for the Canvas,
Her postion to go on living.
She wimpers all the while, impatient
Wondering what the Painter sees
He smiles and continues, just pliant
He to has plead with her to be.
He talks her, from time to time,
To remind her that He loves her
This small creation in the making,
Forgets often that she's authored.
Adoring ever is this Painter,
More so than his subject
Who forgets to love the process
And the becoming of the object.
It's not the end that matters
It's the progress that is made,
For truly no stroke is formed
That the Artist has not bade.
-T. Emerson
To be merely suffered through
It's rather to be savoured--
Every moment known as true.
The Painter has a vision
To which the Canvas is not privy,
Tis only for the Canvas,
Her postion to go on living.
She wimpers all the while, impatient
Wondering what the Painter sees
He smiles and continues, just pliant
He to has plead with her to be.
He talks her, from time to time,
To remind her that He loves her
This small creation in the making,
Forgets often that she's authored.
Adoring ever is this Painter,
More so than his subject
Who forgets to love the process
And the becoming of the object.
It's not the end that matters
It's the progress that is made,
For truly no stroke is formed
That the Artist has not bade.
-T. Emerson
Friday, March 20, 2009
Noiseless
Oh for the state of the noiseless soul
To release in me, encompassing and whole
That no static and soundless noise may intrude
On the subtle, mute, waveless interludes
Of a soul so engrossed in a pure existence
Total and aware of true purpose and instance.
I long for the peace of a seeming isolation
That never dispermits any other relation.
A balance--that for which it must be striven
Effort or more must hitherto be given.
-T. Emerson
To release in me, encompassing and whole
That no static and soundless noise may intrude
On the subtle, mute, waveless interludes
Of a soul so engrossed in a pure existence
Total and aware of true purpose and instance.
I long for the peace of a seeming isolation
That never dispermits any other relation.
A balance--that for which it must be striven
Effort or more must hitherto be given.
-T. Emerson
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Once Upon a Time and Someday
I believe in the rest of the story
I believe there's still ink in the pen
I have wasted my very last day
Trying to change what happened way back when
I believe it's the human condition
We all need to have answers to why
More than ever, I'm ready to say that I
Will still sleep peacefully
With answers out of reach from me until?
Someday all that's crazy
All that's unexplained
Will fall into place
And someday all that's hazy
Through a clouded glass
Will be clear at last
And sometimes we're just waiting
For someday
We are born with a lingering hunger
We are born to be unsatisfied
We are strangers who can't help but wander
And dream about the other side of?
Every puzzle's missing piece
Every unsolved mystery
More than half of every whole
Rests in the Hands that hold you for someday?
-Nichole Nordeman
It is mind boggling to think or imagine that even the most beautiful things we experience now are only divorced and compartmentalized facets of what used to perhaps all fit together, and now cannot. Someday it'll once more be as it was once upon a time. And maybe be even more real because Man will know the difference.
I believe there's still ink in the pen
I have wasted my very last day
Trying to change what happened way back when
I believe it's the human condition
We all need to have answers to why
More than ever, I'm ready to say that I
Will still sleep peacefully
With answers out of reach from me until?
Someday all that's crazy
All that's unexplained
Will fall into place
And someday all that's hazy
Through a clouded glass
Will be clear at last
And sometimes we're just waiting
For someday
We are born with a lingering hunger
We are born to be unsatisfied
We are strangers who can't help but wander
And dream about the other side of?
Every puzzle's missing piece
Every unsolved mystery
More than half of every whole
Rests in the Hands that hold you for someday?
-Nichole Nordeman
It is mind boggling to think or imagine that even the most beautiful things we experience now are only divorced and compartmentalized facets of what used to perhaps all fit together, and now cannot. Someday it'll once more be as it was once upon a time. And maybe be even more real because Man will know the difference.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Listening
Invisible and between the lines
Sing shades we may only see sometimes:
When looking beyond the Obvious,
In quest for those things more dubious.
A symphony plays in shades untold,
As Clandestine yearns herself to unfold.
Only regard and no judgment cast--
The two become friends, meeting alast.
The synergy then is so worth the wait,
Understanding now reaches penultimate state.
-T.Emerson
Sing shades we may only see sometimes:
When looking beyond the Obvious,
In quest for those things more dubious.
A symphony plays in shades untold,
As Clandestine yearns herself to unfold.
Only regard and no judgment cast--
The two become friends, meeting alast.
The synergy then is so worth the wait,
Understanding now reaches penultimate state.
-T.Emerson
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