The Other Side of the Mirror


Life Is An Echo
What you send out - comes back.
What you sow - you reap.
What you give - you get.
What you see in others - exists in you.
Pravs J

We went to see Alice in Wonderland the other day, in 3D, dorky glasses and all.  I was thinking (surprise) during the whole down-side-up-side-down eye-feast, about what we really see in our world.  For instance, the next day we went to San Francisco.  There are people of every persuasion, financial, political, gender, race and intelligence there. There are beggars, street performers, tourists, locals and a whole lot of just regular folk.  

A woman asked me for my 'spare change'.  I don't have a lot, but I wondered. . . what if the world turned around, and I was the beggar, and she was the one all dressed in sequins on her way to see WICKED?  

Do we ever really know the stories of the people we come across?  Could it be, that the woman on the street corner had actually decided, even before she arrived in this place, at this time, in that skin, that she would be the one to teach me to look at the world from another angle?  What if she knew that I would go on my merry way, never really considering the point of views of those who differed from me, unless she volunteered to be my nudge?  Perhaps a silly example, but what about the father who is basically a louse?  Alcoholic, poor provider, with a temper. . . but when the whole story is known, it turns out he was told that the only way his child would ever learn compassion and be able to fulfill their greatest potential, is if they had a difficult childhood.  So he bowed in great agony, and said, "I'll do it so that my son will succeed".  

Then in WICKED. . . "Are people born evil, or do they have evil thrust upon them?"  Something to consider.  We never really get the whole story.  I know for myself, judgement is going to be even less common in my world.  I just never know. . .  

Comments

Post a Comment

Comments are always welcome, writers love to hear readers ideas too.

Popular posts from this blog

Fluid time; static time and flow.

Image
Time is a fluid thing.  It washes through our cupped palm like water.  No matter how we try to hold on to it, it still escapes us a drop at a time.  Yet. . . it also sticks like pulled taffy, lengthening when we most want it to snap and sticking greedily to precision when we wish it would last. I just read one of my favorite author, Mitch Albom's, "The TimeKeeper".  This very principle was keenly expressed through the vivid tale of Father Time himself.  I doubt I'll ever look at my own hourglass in the same way. I remember when I was a child, I dreampt that I could stop the world for just one night.  What could I do to make a difference?  I was fast asleep, but I remember the dream as if it was a Hollywood Academy Award winner with sets, scenery, costumes and special effects that weren't even in existence in the 60's.  (I'm dating myself aren't I?)  I remember the longing I felt when I realized that I had the power to do anything, change any life,
Read more

Reconsiderations and Ministrations

Image
As I said, life gets crazy.  But only when we allow it to.  What will I allow in my life?  I've often said that I think best when I'm on my feet putting out metaphorical fires.  Perhaps it i s the adrenalin, or just the deadline, other or self-appointed.  At any rate, if there is not a certain moment that 'finished' must be cleanly mentally stamped on a project (finished or not), I tend to move it to the "good" column rather than the "best" one.  One of the good things, is this blog.  I began it believing that I wanted to use my life-coaching tools to help others with pitfalls and problems that I'd already slipped into and found a life-like out of.  I was attempting professionalism, a step-back intimacy and the added burden of editing and reediting content and language.  This left me with a distaste (I'm not an editor) for evening beginning the next idea, because it would take much more time out of my priority box than I had allotted.  So
Read more

Just Believe

Image
I would be remiss if I didn't write just a little about the most beautiful holiday seasons.  For some, they are joy-filled, exciting, perfect.  For many others, too many, they are stress-filled, over-taxed and sometimes very lonely. Much of the season is created by our circumstances.  When I was happily married with little ones, it was stress-ful, certainly, but it was full of joy and anticipation and fun.  Then when that family splintered, I was left with the feeling that I had to 'do it all'.  See every Christmas show, participate in every bit of music, over-spend and over-do to make up for the 'brokenness' that was now to be our 'new normal'. Then the next year, I fell into apathy.  Painful, painless apathy.  I just didn't care.  The tree was purchased, but never decorated until Christmas Eve.  The bare minimums were the rule as it was 'his year' for the children.  It was lonely and sad, but there were still moments of joy.  Even then.
Read more