10/04/2017
janatisdalehorton
Do I fight it or do I embrace it as the next step in the evolution of me?
The leathery softness, the sagging skin…the fishlike pattern worn into my arms as if the Artist used the wrong brush while painting the strokes.
Time has worn wrinkles of love, laughter, tears and worry into deep crags around eyes, mouth, cheeks, forehead and chin. All of these, mark the passing of time.
Time: slipping smoothly, soundlessly along while eroding my shell.
Time: marking me in ways my soul doesn’t feel and I cannot fathom.
Dust. Mist. Vapor.
Who am I internally?
Reason. Purpose. Direction?
Is my Soul marked in ways similar to the external? Are there deep crags?
Are there artistic renderings? Have I been marked in ways I cannot explain but for Time’s ceaseless ticking?
Joy. Sorrow. Solitude.
Each of these are etched into the very core of who I am. Only in accepting the internal and external changes am I able to truly love this new phase.
This me. Fighting Time is futile.
This Evolution of Me: how do I earnestly and eagerly seek it?
Surrender. Acceptance. Anticipation.
I must seek the Artist’s Vision and embrace, not just who I am, but also what I see; the timely eroding of the outer me. I want to accept it, not quietly but joyously, in anticipation of the new phase of who I am becoming. Wiser perhaps? Interested in things other than just the day-to-day mundane. Looking and seeking more… more wisdom, more value, more adventure?
Degeneration and wasting away of my outer body is inevitable; the wrinkles, the etchings each tell a story and are not going away, but are daily increasing. I must therefore work on a regeneration which builds up my inner self- my soul. The me inside the exterior shell must be fed a daily dose of joy, kindness and humility.
Wisdom in wasting is powerful wisdom, while the virile find strength to be their master, the weak master wisdom in the guise of humility. A humble heart, who can find? Pride and strength exalt themselves while kindness and love are found to be quiet and strong.
My Artist loves the changes being wrought in me. How can I question His definition of beauty?
A new rendering: beauty in difference? My soul seeks to see the same.
