What is a Mirror?

What is a mirror?

Some would say it is simply a piece of reflective glass.

Some would give me a more textbook definition like, a reflective surface, now typically of glass coated with a metal amalgam, that reflects a clear image.

My response to that definition would be, what the heck is an amalgam, that sounds like some precious stone some grouchy old dragon is hoarding.

Although, I do find it interesting that a piece of glass that has some reflective metal amalgam on it can hold so much over us.

I mean, a mirror is basically a tool, right?

Now I may be the odd one out, but I don’t find myself picking up a hammer and staring intensely into it looking for some unreadable approval.

I know that’s a weird metaphor, but doesn’t that make it hysterically clear.

Why do we base our days, weeks, months, or even lives off what some tool psychically tells us we look like?

Seriously, is that reflection we see in a mirror truly even us?

Does some metal amalgam have the ability to define us?

I seem to find myself believing that essentially our body, at least the part we see in the mirror is just a glorified meat sack.

I would still be me and you would still be you if we were to trade bodies.

So why let what appears in that mirror dictate your life?

I mean, I could see how a mirror would hold more power if an angry hairy goblin lived in it and its only job was to insult people all day.

But, the only angry goblin living in that mirror is one created by centuries of broken ideals our nations have held.

And, to think about it, is that even the mirrors fault, or is it ours?

So ultimately, this whole long-winded melodrama of an article is to say one thing and one thing only.

Don’t let a tool tell you how much you are worth.

The only tool that can even tell you that is a human one and we all know human tools are just like angry little weasels, weak fluffy balls full of unwarranted hate.

To wrap it all up, tools in general whether they be made of amalgam or flesh a bone, are not worth pining and wallowing over because climactically they don’t define you.

Only you can do that.

Love Words

Words, they are simple little fragments of a statement,

made by letters bound together that presumably mean something. No one pays much attention. They use them every day and throw them around like a dirty dish rag. Some could argue they receive the most abuse humankind could ever offer. We forget why words were made. To share ideas and values and give people the ability to know each other in a deeper manner than ever before. Words gave us the best gift anyone or anything ever could. They gave us the ability to be human. It sickens me today how we use and abuse words and sometimes even pull them into the battle they never wanted to belong in. We make words become a being they never wanted to be. We forge them to points to slice and murder each other with. Words were meant to bind people together. To create families and friends. Although nowadays they seem to do the opposite and not by their own accord. We have tainted words and these over-processed beings made by hot headed tongues have created monsters out of what was once human. We could never blame words for what we have become. Instead we can blame ourselves. Because we are the creatures nay the monsters that twisted the souls of words and made them into something that was more poison than palliate. We always blame words for our problems. But do we ever stop to notice who are using the words. Who are enslaving the words. Who are raping the words. No, because we are to afraid to look in the mirror. Learn to use words as a tool to bring us together as a human race rather than one altered to tear us apart and beget avoidable hate and chaos. Learn to love words again.

Dare to Dream of Somewhere Better

     Claira is sitting on her bed in the dark rolling a handful of miscellaneous pills through her fingertips. She watches them all topple and land on the mattress cover like lead hitting the ground.  She stares at those unopinionated bits of reality feeling comfort in their presence. She scoops them up in her hand and contemplates letting them, those lifeless things show her the way to a world where people don’t look at her differently because of a diagnosis.

     Joel walks on to the bus that takes him to his job every morning. He sits down in an empty seat and pulls out his newspaper unfolds it delicately and turns it to the comics, so he can start off his day with some cheer.  Another man comes aboard the bus and sees the seat left open next to Joel. A grimace begins to line his face and he scoffs at the empty seat. Joel looks up and smiles at the other man. “You can sit here, I’m not saving it for anyone.” The standing man looks Joel in the eyes and says, “I would never sit next to a black man.” and he walks off the bus.

     Melinda is sitting at her desk excitement coming to a boil inside her. She sees her coworker equal in job level and duties open the letter laid on his desk. He opens the letter and the words “a dollar raise” brings a smile to his face. He looks at Melinda as she receives her letter as well. She opens the letter and smiles. A smile brightens his face again, “Thank God for that dollar raise, maybe I can afford a few more drinks at the bar tonight.” He says to her. Melinda looks at him and nods in agreement, but the smile begins to fade from her face. She looks down at the now cold piece of paper. The fifty-cent raise beginning to leave a lump in her chest.

           Melinda packs up her things and heads home for the day. She gets a call from her husband who struggles to speak through tears. “Joel, what’s wrong I can’t understand you?” Melinda drops her phone tears brimming her eyes. She runs to her car and speeds her way to the hospital. She gets to the cold clean doors of the hospital and runs into the building, crash landing into her husband’s arms. They both walk into the room and see their cold lifeless daughter laying on the overly crisp clinical sheets. The doctor looks up at them with pain etched in his eyes. “I’m sorry Claira is gone.”

     As Melinda surrenders to the tears grasping tightly to the inside of her eyes, she collapses into her husband’s arms. An old woman passes their room and looks at the scene with hatred and disgust in her eyes “I can’t believe such a pretty white girl would find love in the arms of a black man.” She spits out as she walks by.

    

      No one is born hating another person because of the color of their skin, their background, or their religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.

-          Nelson Mandela

        Change begins with one person. Don’t be the person on the wrong side of history. Love your neighbor no matter their race, gender, diagnosis, or sexuality, they deserve love like anyone else. No one is better than anyone else. Teach our kids to love and maybe they can live in a world a bit kinder than this one.