Yesterday afternoon I took a picture of myself.
I printed the picture out and circled the areas of
my face, where I saw myself-
nothing was circled.
this morning I took a picture of this lovely brown
bird feeder, that I have
hanging from my office window.
I printed the
and circled all of the birds
that I saw
there was one circle.
I put the two photographs
next to each other
and compared their similarities.
In my mind I tore apart their differences,
I poured over their relationships, and built
all that I could through patience.
As I gazed at the fractions of each photo
I found that my face is not who I am.
I found that our bodies
do not represent our true self.
Words do not explain the beating of our heart!
Pictures cannot describe the coloring of our eyes!
In just the same way
that we cannot not drink
the word water.
I am a symptom of both photographs.
Just as the photograph
is a symptom of my parents, and their parents
and your parents. And the words that I am
reading now are a
symptom of that beautiful
bronze bird feeder sitting
out side of my office window.
While looking at the two pictures, it
became abundantly clear that our
parents had all the same problems.
The same problems that you and I all have now,
right here in this room, lined up in clarity and confusion!
And as you check the time, you’ll realize
the technology has changed.
In a photograph we can see each other as equal.
In a place of discontent, we can see
the giraffe in the room.
We can see equality.
Not just in form, but in spirit, not in strife
but with the common understanding of vagrancy.
My reflection is another branch of the tree.
And your circulatory system is
another form of grace!
Memory is remembrance. A story is our history.
Language is a hammer where which we drive
nails into the pieces of our selves!
As inaccurate as we don’t want to be.
We are only ignorant enough to pardon
our own identity.
We are only as clever as we care not to admit.
Because being witty never won a marathon,
and being strong
never held us back!
Because I can relate to the bird in the photograph,
in just the same way that the number three
a dinner party.
Even if for a moment this picture turned into a mirror
even if the picture of myself turned out to be who I am.
I would still be farther away from the truth.
I would still be a projection of time.
If I held all of the words of man in my hand, and
connected the dots between what we could be and what we are,
than I would go ahead and place a circle around myself.
And in an instant, I would
place a circle around everyone that I see.
Because when I look around this room,
and I see a picture of you too.