There are those with whom I have nothing in common but the blood that runs in the veins. Cliche. The word blind doesn't mean what you think, if you're able and are you? Seeing nothing but light. Our shadow selves. Reading poetry this morning.
In the Beginning God
Said Light
Mary Szybist
and there was light.
Now God says, Give them a little theatrical lighting
and they're happy,
and we are. So many of us
dressing each morning, testing
endless combinations, becoming in our mirrors
more ourselves, imagining,
in an entrance, the ecstatic
weight of human eyes.
Now that the sun is sheering
toward us, what is left
but to let it close in
for our close-up? Let us really feel
how good it feels
to be still in it, making
every kind of self that can be
looked at. God, did you make us
to be your bright accomplices?
God, here are our shining spines.
Let there be no more dreams of being
more than a beginning.
Let it be
that to be is to be
backlit, and then to be only that light.
via poem-a-day
