LOST IN A PORTRAIT
“I analyze everything, I know what you mean. I answer by questioning all that I need. And I want you to surrender, I want you to see all the signs, all the faces inside of me. I see I’m not perfect, but that’s all I see. Lost in a portrait in a picture of me … this can’t be everything I see. Then my canvas is incomplete. Your color’s everything to me, and my canvas will set me free. My outline’s solid and made up of crying. And nothing’s that you say just burn my eyes. I want to surrender, I want you to find some comfort in the spaces between the lines.” – Trapt
This trip is almost over and while I’ve made a push against “the dragon”, part of me is still very sad. The tours each day have been long, and the sights have been overwhelming. I am in love with this country and being here brings me an ethereal peace that is just so hard for me to describe. The deep, rich history beckons my soul and calls to mind that although these last 16 years have felt so long and treacherous, they are but a blip on the radar of my life comparatively speaking.
As I’ve traveled here in France and wandered through each more beautiful village, I’ve found myself a perpetual state of “eyes wide shut” trying to imagine having been here in some other space and time and walking these very same roads. What did it look like? What did it smell like? How did it sound, taste and feel? So many battles have been fought and won here and so many of these breathtakingly beautiful places and monuments have been desecrated, then rebuilt, if only to emerge even more beautiful than they were before. Countless pools of human blood and tears have soaked these fervent soils yet still all these flowers bloom.
So, then what does history tell me? WHAT DOES IT SCREAM TO MY SOUL? It says that history is but a series of ongoing events leading to either growth or death in endless abound. Each sunset begs the opportunity for me to leave the past behind and awaken to a horizon that literally hands me a daily set of choices, beginnings and ends. My story then, my “history”, can really mean something if I choose to let it, even if I personally never witness the outcome with my own eyes.
Perhaps my purpose is much bigger than myself and the lessons I’m learning along the way will somehow cause a ripple effect in the history of not only my family but any other lives I manage to touch along the way, like a pebble being dropped into the ocean. Maybe someone, somewhere, somehow will be standing in the very places that my own two feet have been and thus my history will have broadened someone else’s horizon far beyond what I can possibly imagine.
Perspective has got to be everything otherwise I’m only deaf, dumb and truly blind. Still, during these last days I’ve found myself staring far beyond these beautiful Provencal fields, into an abyss I neither understand nor am fully connecting with. At the end of the day, all I can say is that I desperately need to make sense of all my broken pieces so that I can use them to make this my life, my children, this world and everyone I encounter somehow better than I found them. Please, God, I am begging You. It’s time for my masterpiece to finally start coming together.