Stop Motion

Created: 03/25/2010 01:58:43 AM

Time has broken apart for me, chilled to the freezing point and broken off like an iceberg. All motion in this quiet room is suspended, and the world outside quiet, hazy and white. Though no deliberate steps were taken, I have arrived in a new place. There are no streets here, no raindrops on the pavement, no circus clowns with rubber noses looking for their lost caravan, no warmth coming from the South to warm my extremities.

Caricatures of me are pasted to the walls, mostly drawn in black ink with torn edges and smeared features. Each of these I recognize as myself, like flipping through an old photo album of my youth. A three year-old of innocent wonder, cautious of the broken glass in the living room; a six year-old of frightened social distrust, who hides from the crowded bus stop before school to avoid the torment and tears; a nine year-old twisting in the arms of a should-be protector; a fourteen year-old of adolescent madness, cute like a baby, but longing to be known for his invisible strength; a twenty year-old in a world that has shifted inside-out, but only for him, as the circus spins endlessly around him; twenty-five and the illusions of loyalty are beginning to fade, his "friends" caught up in their monetary masquerade.

Each of these past faces, though torn and faded, turns its eyes in my direction as I walk past their scribbled outlines. They watch me as I pass them, but say nothing, only gazing at me inquisitively. Perhaps I have become something unrecognizable to all of them; surely it is equally difficult for me to see myself in their eyes. Are these individuals subject to my scrutiny? Have they committed sins? Are they in need of intervention and my crucial advice from their future?

No.

These faces are not subject to my judgment. They are not subject to my scrutiny. Have they not been judged and scrutinized enough by everyone that has seen them before? They were burdened and downtrodden with guilt, shame, thoughts of ineptitude and suicide, of not measuring up to expectations, afraid of not finding their place within this mad world. They have committed no sins in my eyes.

Each is innocent, though afflicted. Each is in need of understanding, identification, recognition of his own sincerity. Each is deserving of love and embrace, solace and harmony; and this I give to them.

"A kiss on the forehead for you, young stranger; broken glass will be replaced, and a crystal vase will carry flowers to the one you love."

"A gentle embrace for you, old friend. The venom you receive from others is born of the sadness they endure."

"A look of courage for you, unprotected one. Your arms will be stronger one day."

"A smile for you, one of broken promises, your love and affection is not in vain. Trust me, that your eyes are as beautiful as mine, which hold only compassion for you."

"A look of brotherly recognition, one of supramundane clarity. Your wisdom and resolve is unshakable now."

And as I give redemption to each of these beings, I stand now with my own feelings of guilt and ineptitude. Will my future self look back on the face I have now, gracing it with kindness and mercy? Will it view me as a human being, caught in a web of confusion and inability to comprehend the world? All my shortcomings and unnecessary sufferings have not evaporated. Is there a face looking at me now, with my head in shambles and heart unwilling to concede defeat, saying to me...

"A gift of silent compassion for you, my lost friend. Your thirty-one years are not in vain. Your purpose is noble. Your intent is pure. Strive for clarity, and love with your entire being. Embrace all in your path and don't look down. Remember the broken glass, the fear, the weakness, the longing, the epiphany. In your current despair, you are tempered even stronger."