See

See through my eyes.
Do you know, do you know what I see?
I see beauty.
And I see brokenness.
They live together.
Now, we see dimly as in a mirror.
But then
Then we shall know and be known..

Clear as day.
Bright as a moonlit, star-filled night.

God is love,
and so must I be.

But God has already died for me.

It is not for salvation that we follow.
It is for love.
It is out of respect,
It is out of joy,
It is the longing to reciprocate what has been given.

And we cannot love until we are loved.

It's all how you look at it...

If there was a way to draw with words I would, but I can’t. 

But you can.

You can take my words, you can make a picture…

No one can make that picture for you.

No matter how many words you are given, only you can string them together.

If I describe a red ball to you, what do you see? Maybe I saw a bouncy ball, like the kind you get out of a quarter machine at walmart. And maybe you saw something roughly the size of a dodgeball. 

Now, if I told you to think of a basketball, you would see something orange with lines on it…

But maybe I meant a white one, with red lines?

See, but now you’re thinking of a baseball. 

We have pre-conceived pictures of what we think things ought to look like. Beauty to me might be a sunset over a world of ice, captured right as the moon is rising. Beauty to you might be a forest at the break of dawn, captured in the dew drops falling from the leaves of the trees. 

If I told you to imagine a world free of worry, what do you see? 

You won’t see what I see.

No one sees what I see.

If I told you about a dragon, tall as a building, with glistening red scales… It’s eyes are black. It’s shimmering, simply because heat is emanating from it, but to you it looks like magic. To me it looks like magic. Its teeth, sharp and long, don’t all fit inside its mouth. Its wings are an onyx colored gossamer fabric. You can just about see through them, but then again you could just be imagining it…

You just painted a picture in your head. I maybe suggested it, but you put it there. Was your dragon angry? Terrifying? 

Mine was sad, and quiet. 

Words are slave to their masters… But are their masters the authors? Or are their masters the reader?

Who is really in charge? It’s all by interpretation. 

Once upon a time, a princess got roasted, and then promptly eaten. Who ate it? 

You probably imagined the dragon eating the princess. It probably swallowed her in one bite.

I saw a king’s court dining finely on a dragon. I never said it was a human princess, now, did I? 

No one sees the same. 

What do you see? 

Sense (This makes none)

The things that are hardest to say...

The things that need to be said

The things that spin in your mind

The things you just need to get out of your head

Confusion

Chaos

Where faith and fear collide

It's all the things you're afraid to say

It's all the things you hide away

Your thoughts

Your feelings

Who you are...

You can risk everything you have, without risking everything you are.

But if you don't really have who you are, you don't really have anything.

Risk is only a matter of perspective.

Everything is only a matter of perspective.

It's all how you look at it.

Upside down, the piece doesn't fit

But move it

And the puzzle is complete.

Everything has a simple answer, but you can't see the forest if all you see is a singe leaf. 

Borrowed phrases, borrowed cliches.

A cliche is a truth the world is tired of hearing. 

But it's usually something cliche that people need to hear the most

To say the most

To remember, in times of silence, 

When you're alone... 

Darkness

Light

It's all the same

(It's a matter of perspective.)

(How do you see it)

(.... Or, do you see it?)

What do you see? (Are you blind?)

And how would you know blindness?

You don't know you're asleep until you wake up.

But what if it's too late? 

You never know until time's up... 

And you don't know what you have until it's gone.

(Time's up.)

A simple game.

You've come to a hall. There is an open door to your left, and a closed door straight ahead.
You know the door ahead is unlocked.
You know it is the way.
But still, curiosity gets the better of you, and you look left.

It is a plain, undecorated room.
There is a woman sitting in the room, at a table against the wall.
She is old; the wrinkles on her face speak of everything from excruciating pain to ecstasy.
She is not alive.
But, she is breathing. She is moving.

"Come, sit with me," she says.

You know the door ahead is unlocked.

You know it is the way.

But who is she? And what is this?

Intrigued, you take a step into the room. 

Her lips lift, ever so slightly, smirking. Smiling. 

You relax. Alive or not, she seems kind. 

"Come, sit..." She is playing with something. A deck of cards?

She smiles openly now, seeing the inquisition written in your eyes.

"How about a game of chance?"

You know the door ahead is unlocked.

You know it is the way.

But what does she have to offer?

As you walk further into the room, you see...

Behind her is another door. 

You do not know where it goes. 

She does. You know she does. 

"A simple game of chance..." she whispers as you sit down. 

"You know the door ahead is unlocked." speaks a voice. 

"And you know it is the way." 

But that voice is too familiar. 

You know if you sit, the door behind you will close. 

You don't know if it will open again. 

The woman is laying out the cards on the table. 

All you have to do is win.

Right?