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A brush with hope

July 9, 2016

Every morning the canvas is blank, waiting for color, waiting for words, waiting for sound, waiting for something, anything, to give it an identity.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps all the best stories have already been written. Maybe all the best songs have already been sung, the best paintings painted. Perhaps there are no new dances left to dance, and all the great ideas have already had their time in the limelight.

Maybe King Solomon was right.  Maybe there really isn’t anything new under the sun.

But I can’t really jive with that. Sol wrote some good stuff, but he was definitely not having a good day when he came up with that “nothing new under the sun” gem—which Jesus later corrected, by the way.

The truth is that every day life keeps coming at us. Every day the planet overflows with little lungs taking their first breaths, and worn ones taking their last. Every day humankind navigates relationships, the laws of physics, the mysteries of life, and a host of appetites that remind of us of our kinship with the kingdom of beasts.

Each day we are filling a canvas, regardless of whether or not it’s our desire or intention to do so.  We either absorb from the world around us, or we pull from the overflow of what’s within us, and we decorate the canvas. And as the sun goes down we tuck that canvas away. It’s official; another day has come and gone, another canvas has been filled and hung in the gallery. Tomorrow’s canvas may be completely different, but as today slowly becomes a yesterday, it can no longer be changed.

As long as there is laughter, as long as there are tears, as long as people rage and grieve and tremble and wonder and engage in random acts of curiosity, canvases everywhere will be splashed with color and poetry, the ideas of inventors and the footprints of dancers, the brilliant light and soul-shattering shadow of the joys and sorrows of a day of breathing in and out on Planet Earth.

I want my gallery to be a monument to unreasonable hope and outrageous joy.

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. July 9, 2016 9:57 am

    May it be so in glorious ways!

  2. July 9, 2016 4:22 pm

    i love this, and you are painting away, my hope filled, fiery friend. love you.

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