Squint
(For Andrea)
What would you tell me first if you had to tell me everything?
If you stare directly at the sun,
however briefly, squinting to blur the edges
of the light and warmth that it holds,
you may even convince yourself
that you can absorb pure love
without going blind or being ruined by it.
Yet isn’t knowing something to be true,
even with our eyes closed,
and being completely undone by it,
sufficient proof that we stood
in it’s presence
close enough to feel it in every fiber of our body,
yet somehow living to tell the tale,
built rather than destroyed.
I squint to blur the sharp edges,
see the differences in softer hues,
remind myself that I’m limited by my own vision.
The world really is small and round after all.
I squint to look serious when I’m trying not to cry,
but then I remember trying not to cry is a sign of weakness and I allow the village to draw from the well.
I squint at the fine print, the liner notes and the distant friends on the horizon,
the ones visiting after a long time who are just now within view,
and the dearly departed ones who are just about out of sight,
until we meet again.
Our vision can be permanently altered.
We can collapse to the ground,
as if by melting
and be reformed.
Repurposed into something entirely new,
able to see the sunrises and sunsets
for what they really are,
hellos and goodbyes,
fresh starts and wiping the slate.
What we do between the two
is up to us.
What you do with the two
is up to you.
Shine in the pain and the pleasure.
Shine in the doubt and the daring.
Shine in the grief and the gratitude.
Shine in the loss and the love.
Shine like the loneliest heart at Carnival, newly softened and warmed over by the song it just heard.
Shine like a glittery Pegasus with a diamond tipped unicorn horn flying beside a comet over the nebulous neon noise of the Las Vegas Strip on New Year’s Eve.
Shine like the vibrant tableau of lit candles, celebrating the transparently thin veil between life and death, all across Oaxaca, blending with the the sacred stars from a boundless bucolic bird’s eye view, on Dia de Los Muertos.
Shine like the unexpecting eyes of a Transylvanian youth, visiting Paris for the very first time, sinking their tastebuds into their very first bite of whipped cream and nutellla crepe at midnight, right when the Eiffel Tower is set ablaze.
Shine so bright when you’re walking down the street in Tehran, and someone compliments your glow, you can turn to them and simply say “It is your eyes that are beautiful” because that may well be
the fiercest response to a compliment of all time.
Shine like lightening lavishly living in a lighthouse on the coast of Maine helping wayward ships find their way safely to shore. Then give those vessels the grit and grace to go back out again in the storm.
Shine so purely and unobstructedly when you walk in a room it makes others squint, giving them both the permission and courage to trust the same light they still have within them.
What would I say first if I had to tell you everything?
Shine like you were made to.
Shine like you’re supposed to.
Shine like you were born on purpose
for a purpose.
For whether you’re coming or going,
you’re part of me now so
you’re never further off
than my horizon,
and you feel closer
with every breath.
SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS 