in the stillness between rainstorms, the lake is an imperfect looking glass and the houses around it look down at impressionistic paintings of themselves, brushed onto the surface of the water with a wavery hand. I glance down between my feet with toes curled to grip the edge of the sun-roughened dock to discover on the sky colored canvas below an equally impressionistic painting of myself, interrupted by the blur of a dragonfly flying zigzagging past...and it strikes me that these imperfect reflections are often how we perceive ourselves, how we see ourselves--our worth as humans, our physical appearance, our ability to be loved and needed by others--imperfectly, inaccurately. Our self worth gets blurred around the edges...and, like the eye of the painter, we are drawn to and compelled to allow our gaze to focus in on the imperfections we can see, sometimes at the cost of our ability to see the beauty of the composition as a whole. As has been said before, be as nice to yourself as you are to your friends, and also, I might add, treat yourself as you would like others to treat you...and try to view the artwork that is you and your life with the eye of a lover, not the eye of a critic.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 04:05:09 +0000
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