Outside of my window what do I see?
Unfortunately, that’s a question that I find myself unable to answer simply because I don’t have the courage to gaze beyond the pane that so covertly hides the pain that I feel so deeply inside of my being. The transparent material made from grains of sand that endured the heat and pressure of the furnace but ultimately succumbed and revealed all in its mysterious lucidity, it works tirelessly to keep me from doing the same.
What would I see if only I could gather the courage to take a peek?
Would the sight I see be inspiring and encourage me to venture beyond the honest confinement that the window provides for me, or would the view fill me with feelings of regret that chew at me until the fact that I’ve made a grave mistake is so deeply engraved. Would the gnawing feeling stand out for me to see in the small reflective surface of the window dare I to look again? This juxtaposition hinders me, binds me, and keeps me confined in the room with a single window that I am unable to move beyond.
In a way, I’m similar to this window.
I stand strong while pretending to be invincible, proclaiming to others that life is as easy as I portray it to be. All of my cards are laid out on the table for the entire world to see, but what they don’t know is what I’m able to keep hidden from them. The blackout curtains that I depend on to cover my nakedness and avoid being exposed, it hides the one card that leaves me the most vulnerable. My invincibility? It’s a farce. Just like this window, all it would take is one great intrusion and I’d shatter becoming different versions of myself that seem to be infinitely growing in number while reducing in size.
There are many ways to break a window.
When attempting to break a window, most go for the speedy option of smashing it to pieces. Sure, it works but there are many ways for what’s outside of the window to work their way inside, leaving the occupants with nothing to do but to helplessly try and piece the window back together before the unknowns of the outside corrupt what’s within.
Pinpoint the pressure.
It’s hard to comprehend how simply attacking one vital point with repetitive precision, whether it’s with immense pressure or the lackluster opposite. As long as there is a concentration of stress, at some point the window would break. I have a concentration of stress, yet I can’t concentrate long enough to deduce where the concentration originates from. Instead I endure the nagging intrusion, hoping to be different from a window and be able to withstand…
Is it only the window?
What if I’d become the sandy grains the glass of which the window originated from? Would my fear disappear if I approach the unknown from a fearless perspective? No fear of pain, no hiding behind the pane. Become the pane.
I am the window.
I’ve looked. What I see is incomprehensible for I’ve never known anything beyond the window. Now I am the window, and I know there is more to reality that is beyond me. I see pain beyond my pane. The tears of the women who lose their children to the violence they themselves did not start. The tears of the children who fear what is to become of themselves in the neighborhoods they were raised. Was I mistaken? Has my endeavor of liquidation been paled in the face of the salting raindrops that could never race down my surface? The saline rain that I’d only be able to see, yet never truly experience for myself as long as I remain this window. Have I taken the cowardly route to avoid this pain, in my state of pane?
Pain or Pane?
The fires burning in the hearts of the hurt and the streets of the feigned ignorance. The agonizing yells and shattered cries of the people who want recognition for their lives, their work, their sacrifices. The sacrifices made by their people who came long before them with very little to show for it since they’re still fighting to do the same things and the hate and hurt and pain it still brings. The blood that is spilled seemingly for no reason other than to paint the skin of all the difference in shades so that unity and balance can be found at last. Was it only a thing of the past? No. It’s the present that I’d so readily decline, but this gift has an anonymous sender who failed to scribe their return address so I can do nothing but uselessly watch from my pane.
Is there only pain?
I try to search hard yet I’m limited by my pain. There isn’t much that I can see from outside of my window, there isn’t much that can be done to widen my view of the world from where I currently stand and I feel that this is no way to live. I must leave this window and find a new window to relate to those who’ve never seen from my own. I must slowly reach for the branch that I see hanging outside of my window and grab a hold of it. I’ll use this branch as my leverage, as my step stool, and I’ll find a new perspective to view the world from. Only then I can truly understand what it is that I am seeing.
I am not a window, this is not my pane.
I see the solemn faces of those who want to speak up, but are silenced by the elders who’ve watched from their window longer than thee and have the courage to leave their windows to smash in someone else’s, becoming the intruder that breaks through panes with gifts of pain. The silenced voices of the awakened and the understanding, the hidden angst masked by the pretty smiles as they remorse silently to themselves behind the pane. I can see it, it’s more than pain. It’s a deep hurt that has an underlying feeling mixed in that helps to create a new color that will paint this world. This color will go beyond the blood. This color derives from tears. This color will be the only thing visible from the pane, from all panes. Like the salty raindrops I’d witness before, yet they’re different. Is it empathy? Is that the small thing that makes such a difference in color, that of which can change entire perspectives from merely gazing through the pane?
If not a window, what am I?
There is something else that I see. It’s not pain. It’s different, it’s good. It’s bright and leaves me feeling warm, I don’t want it to disappear so I’ll stay here and look for more of it. More of the hand holding of innocent children who don’t fear one another’s differences. More smiling and laughing and the coming together of the people who were put on this Earth, regardless the difference in their pane.
Transparency is learned and therefore taught.
Why be a transparent window when you can embrace the difference in colors that enable us to come together as one body and create a masterpiece that is a stained glass window. Stained because it was transparent before going through its experience. What is that experience? Experience varies since everyone looks through their own pane. Each perspective has become its own significant color that defines the body in its own way. No color of more importance than another, no color the same.
There are more than windows…
I guess I’ve become greedy. After finally being able to muster the courage to peer outside of my window I’ve now reached a point in my life where that is no longer enough to satisfy the hunger which is my curiosity. I can do it though, I can go further beyond gazing, I can live. Like those daring people who are able to terrorize the unfortunate, I too can walk the world without fear of retribution. There will be a difference, although it may be a difference only I am aware of. I won’t be the bringer of saline rainfalls nor will I bring obedience through fear and pain, I only bring my hope for the future when more people similar to myself will gather the courage to escape their self made prisons known as windows.
I’ll encourage. I’m not a window.
I am not a window. I’ve looked outside of my window and what I’ve seen has stirred me up so deeply inside that it forced me to venture beyond. I no longer have to peek, I am what others will see outside of their own windows.
I am free.
