There are times I that look in a shiny reflection and see what everyone else sees. A young girl, not too impressive, but not too ignorant. I’ll see her eyes move from side to side, glancing up and down, trying her best to hide imperfections and dissatisfactions. I’ll watch as her hand glides over her hair to smooth out kinks and frizz. I’ll see all the symbols and gifts adorned on her fingers and arms. I’ll see the cloth that lay upon her body, accentuating just the right curves. I could name every store that she purchased them from. I could even tell you stories about how she accumulated each of her material treasures. As an onlooker, I would guess her confidence remains intact at most times.
Then there’s the moments where I don’t recognize her in the least. I look at the form of her body and the contours of her face and it’s far from what’s on the inside. Well put together. Everything matches, everything flows. Not so underneath. Sometimes she’s scared and her heart is downcast. Sometimes her fears overwhelm her. Sometimes sorrow suffocates her. If you look close enough at the right moment, it’s deep in her eyes. Sometimes a shadow will catch my attention and I’ll see her for what she once was: a wretch. A filthy rag, to be thrown into nowhere but darkness. Sometimes all I can make out through the thick fog is death, shown callously on her hands.
But nay, there comes those moments, rare beheld, that it’s no longer her I see, but yet another. It’s a shiny Being and it casts a light glow upon her reflection. Something, or someone, has recently taken ahold of her lifeless form and used the strings to gently guide her about. It’s given her purpose and reason to effort over earthly things, regardless of her worth. These are the moments where I can’t recall her previous states. These are the moments where I have to look yet again to be sure it’s the same. These are the times that she is most beautiful. When all I can see is that Life inside her, a graceful, cleansed lady, adorned by wonder. Her face transparently revealing an ancient glory.
And this is her battle: To remain aglow with such humility and to be refined, so much as that even the most intellectual form could not separate the two.