Friday, July 22, 2011

Sandals

In my creative writing class today at the Mental Health Association, we were provided pictures and asked to write on those pictures, mine was sandals.




Walking along the beach in a yellow sundress and my new yellow sandals. I enjoy the feel of the sand as it gets on my feet, the breeze in the air. Listening to the waves crash upon the beach.

The sandals leave me feeling special, and yet revealed. I generally keep my feet covered. I guess much as I keep my real self covered, hiding it from the real world.

The sandals leave my feet open and vulnerable as I leave myself when I chance to drop the walls around me and let others in to see the real me.

The sandals are pretty and fashionable, as some would say about me, but I feel more comfortable in sneakers, being covered and safer from things that could hurt me, much like I prefer to hide behind my walls.

But I leave the comfort behind and wear the sandals leaving myself open much as I am doing as I learn to open myself up to others.

How are you blind to the things in this life?

In a devotional yesterday I received the following:

Beautiful Friendship Flower - Poem

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,

For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,

A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.

He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - too little rain, too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,

I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.

That's why I picked it; here - it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead,
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.

But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.

So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,

He held it midair without reason or plan.

It was then that I noticed for the very first time

That weed-toting boy could not see; he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.

"You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see

A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.

How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, ... blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see

The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose

And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose

And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This made me think and I want to ask How are you blind to the things in this life?

We used this as a prompt for creative writing today and I will post mine later.......tell me what it makes you think.


Where would I be?

Where would I be if I were not diagnosed with depression and social anxiety disorder. I would like to think I would be in a better place, but in all honesty I know that when undiagnosed....I had no motivation or will to do anything, so I guess I would be still in the same place physically. But I would have missed the journey that I am currently on to find myself and to find greater meaning in my life. I would not be as compassionate and understanding to the needs of others. I would not be engaging in the quest to discover what makes me tick, and in that getting in touch with my true self. The self I wouldn't have found without taking an honest look at me. I have not completed the journey, but I am on my way.

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