We
are a visual society; no doubt. We are bombarded every day with visual
images that appeal to our desires and even our dislikes. I’m a part of
the ‘we’. I love pretty things. I love art, nature, the wonder of the universe,
the shape of a man, and colorful food makes me hungry. But beneath, in
the making, in the growing, and often in places we can’t see - there is a
mixture of hidden and visible scars that led to the beautiful image in front of
us. Many of us never notice these scars, because it takes a different kind of
eyes to see them.
I
was blessed in the aspect that I was raised by a blind man. I learned
before I could I walk to “see” differently. It’s like a native language, and
not really something that one can fully learn as an adult with the same
degree. While a new language can be easily obtained, that natural
fluidity is something else entirely. I lend this ability to see differently to
one of the main foundations in my writing as well.
My
eyes are drawn to the hidden and visible scars of the human soul, and it’s
often very painful. The feelings sometimes are so overwhelming I just
crumble inside, yet also inspiring that I can’t help but smile. I see people
differently, I see beauty and cruelty, I see depth and shallowness, I see love
and indifference when I meet a person, especially when I’m simply talking to
them face to face. I try to avoid their eyes, because that’s when I see them
most clearly. Their scars don’t scare me away, but intrigue me. Their
imperfections I find the most beautiful.
None
of us are perfect. I think I’m an amazing person. I would be
intrigued by me. I love that woman I see in the mirror, because even though she
has accomplished many things, and has an energy that is almost uncontrollable –
I see her visible and hidden scars. I see that small white scar on her
left breast where once death dared to attack. I see those huge, long white
lines that run down the length of her stomach and remember the years of
suffering and freedom that followed. I see the small white scar from the blade
that wanted to kill me. I see the little burn marks and remember that
scared little girl that once thought her world would always be filled with
darkness. I see the Cesarean and stretch marks that were gained bringing the
three most important people into my life – lives that was created within me and
that I brought into this world. I also see the scar of the child I never got to
hold. I see the loose skin, the graying hairs, the beginning wrinkles,
the cottage-cheese thighs and other signs of getting older. I see the
limp hair and weak teeth due to chemo and vitamin deficiencies. I see all
those things – yet when I look at myself I see a beautiful soul.
Some
will never see beyond a pretty face. Many will never able to get passed a fat
ass, a broken tooth, flabby skin, or something else very shallow. We are
a visual world. We want the world to accept us and all our hidden and
visible scars, but we are not willing to do the same for others. We want
everyone to understand our pain, our hopes, our dreams, but often unwilling to
listen and be a support for someone else’s pain, hopes and dreams. That’s why I
love pets. Pets don’t give a damn how you look – they care about how you
treat them. If you love and feed them, you are the most beautiful thing in the
world to them.
I
know I’m weird, and odd, and definitely not typical – because I’m drawn to the
deep. I’m drawn to what I can feel when I close my eyes, more than what I
can see when I have them open. I’m attracted to souls, not faces, not even if
they look like Jason Mamoa. I’m drawn to a presence that allows me to
feel safe, to feel free to be myself, to feel unafraid to show my scars. But
the world is superficial. It’s one of the reasons I’m often afraid to meet new
people. In my experience it doesn’t go so well. It’s human nature to put
our best foot forward and greet the world with a smile. Because of who I
am, the energy I express, how I speak, or how I’m open, or what I’ve accomplished
- I am often placed on a pedestal, loved by an ideology that was created in
their minds, and desired by an imagination of who they want me to be – and in
reality they meet a simple woman riddled with hidden and visible scars. I
am still all they imagined, just their vision changed. The fall hurts, no
matter how big or small. With this vision of mine, I always see it when
it happens – and it happens a lot.
I
can’t control how the world sees me, or loves me, or doesn’t. I love me
JUST the way I am. I am enough. I am beautiful regardless of my
imperfections and my scars. I am a good woman. I have a good heart. I can hold
my head high because I am filled with integrity. I have been through hell so
many times, yet refuse to let it embitter me, or break me, or use it as an
excuse to become a mean, cruel, and selfish person. I’m not perfect, but
I possess a perfect love.
Till
next time,
~T.L.
Gray
