Chapter Thirty Seven: A Personal Musing

Sometimes you think you've found love,

when it's really just one of those objects

that are shiny in a certain light--a trophy,

say, or a ring, or a diamond, even.

Glass shards, maybe.

You've got to be careful, you do.

The shine can blind you.

The edges can cut you in a

way you never imagined.

It is up to you if you allow that or not.

Deb Caletti,

The Secret Life of Prince Charming

I cannot explain myself and what I have done.

I cannot even grasp the essence of what has inevitably transpired.

I have worked very hard trying to understand the things that have happened.

However, the more I seek for the elusive truth, the more the film captures the scenes of the many greed and lies.

It was as if the Glass was unworthy of the muse.

The putrid smell permeates the bottle, and the stink explodes. It cannot be denied.

Even the bottle was made of Glass, too, capable of breaking, and so am I.

But the musings must continue. I must think for myself. Not even the movies offer the truth, but it gives us hope, nonetheless.

I must say what I feel is right.

I must persevere.

The films must capture the prejudice that destroys the faith in the human person.

The society's judgments; they are harsh.

It breaks the many hearts 

and the wound bleeds.

The Glass can break, and so is the heart.

Painfully, it needs some fresh air to breathe.

The many sorrows lend itself into the consciousness.

Of animosity, of retribution.

Of hateful thoughts. Of crimes.

The acts of inappropriate interpretations.

The virtues of faith, and the sin of human nature.

The souls to be freed, encased in a Glass enclosure; waiting and listening intently.

They are not to be harmed, although it breaks.

The little pieces offer a hope to be whole again.

It reaches out into the depths of character.

The tears washes out the dirt of evil words.

To wash the diamonds away from the mud.

To gain a life from the suffering.

To be new.

Born again.

To rebuild the Cathedral. And the stained Glass.

A complete regalia of thoughts, however unplesantly conceived.

It does not matter if the prison is a Glass.

In order to shatter it to liberate the love, a potential impetus.

At first, it may sound painful.

A song of self-destruction.

But it is the only way to freedom, like the valley of tears, and the eyes of a weeping mother.

Undeterred, yet sorrowful.

A mysterious sadness, and the substance of faith.

The beauty emerges from the torch that shapes.

Like a metallurgical discipline. A foreman of love.

Tears, it flows.

Then the light floods.

It washes away everything into a world of unimaginable beauty.

Of the many gargolyes, a courtyard of the iconography of unknown saints.

In the movies, in the projectors.

A sword.

Diligence.

Chivalry.

Effort.

Inside the tomb, a shape, is the presence of hope.

And then the graveyard offers hell again.

x----------x

This Chapter is sponsored by Fendi men's sneakers.