Posts Tagged images

FINDING PEACE
May 7, 2010 by jill
A depiction of my decent into darkness and emergence into light

I came across his image, alive upon the screen; my breath caught suddenly within my throat, my heart grew heavy, mind suddenly weary, and still I could not look away. For in that brief and fleeting moment, taken completely unawares, I gazed into the shadows of my very soul, remembering what was lost there.

I came across his image, alive upon the screen; my breath caught suddenly within my throat, my heart grew heavy, mind suddenly weary, and still I could not look away. For in that brief and fleeting moment, taken completely unawares, I gazed into the shadows of my very soul, remembering what was lost there.

To market, to market…

A laid back celebration this year…

This was truly a frightening drive home…

And still I stop and pause; capturing images such as this, when presented before my eyes; wondering always, if God truly dwells there…

Born in the North, I often dreamed of the South; when I did, images were conjured of grand old plantation estates, with wrap around porches and marble columns visible from the end of long oak-lined lanes; branches canopying the way, silver-grey moss swaying in the sultry southern breeze; thick with the heady scent of magnolia.

And these trees, these Magnolias, like none other I’d ever seen. As if a southern gentleman, in every respect; grand and prominent in stature, strong and virile; dressed out in the finest leaves; waxy green, thick like leather, commanding attention amongst all others. Then true to form, offering up a bouquet of simple, yet elegant blossoms that fill the air with a decadent perfume that can be detected for miles around.

How I love the south; with her abundance of beautiful offerings; as if the birthplace of Mother Nature herself.

And then one day, during my exploration, I ventured a little deeper, walked a little further; past the tall white, stately mansions, stumbling quite by accident, upon rows of little shacks; where the beauty faded and her ugly truth was revealed; slapped hard in the face with reality; which left a scar on my heart that will always remain; stinging pain forever to be felt. As I gazed at the torturous device, the post erected for lashings. I could hear the screams that pierced the night, the crack of the bullwhip wielded by that prominent plantation master; stripped of his gentlemanly façade, a brutal racist torturer taking his place.

Everything was suddenly perfectly clear; as I gazed at the giant old oaks and magnolias I stood among; their natural beauty still visible through my eyes, yet I couldn’t help but wonder of the deadly secrets that might be told; the brutal sins in which they were forced to assist. The south has never been the same to me since.

And so one day, while browsing an antique shoppe, nestled among Civil War era memorabilia, I saw this saintly little man staring down at me. My instincts told me how wrong it was, that his creation had been forged from controversy and for all the wrong reasons. But right or wrong, I had to have him. I had to take him out of that place and give him a home where he would be revered, respected, admired and cherished; the truth of his history never forgotten, his story retold to any who asked, and all who would listen.

I call him Mr. Eugine, and his home is a permanent spot on my desk. He’s become my talisman, my inspiration, my symbol of hope, and my muse on days like this. His presence humbles me, keeps me thankful, and quite simply makes me smile. And so on this day, when that stately gentleman I call the magnolia, offers up his first heady bouquet to me, I pick a single blossom and bring it home as my own offering. An offering of forgiveness, in memory and in honor of all those who suffered and lost their lives on the very soil I now tread and dwell, this place I call my home. This place I proudly share with Mr. Eugine; for all the right reasons.