Seeing Things as Glass.

Like you, I too am made of glass. 

Most days I pretend like it's not true through various actionable lies: 

multi-tasking, caffeine, being frugal, obtaining all the information I can to feel prepared, avoiding rollercoasters/ theme parks, or just anything that wants to send me somewhere super quickly and call it 'fun' because of an adrenaline rush, researching cults exorbitantly, watching documentaries and staying with that person or story for weeks, even months sometimes - the list goes on. 

Yet, don't let me distract from your own reasons.

 I'm sure this pandemic has made you realize at least some of the places you slap the superglue on and go about your business forgetting you're broken and it looks a little jagged. 

The safety we as Americans believed we had is revealed as what it always has been: made of glass, too. So we, in a bit of a tantrum (like a child because tragedy proves us all the be children, not adults), have yelled about it, cried, feared, you name it. 

Even beyond the physical health or protection we were hoodwinked into thinking we had, we've also known, rediscovered, discovered for the first time, overlooked intentionally but passively, or denied vehemently the lack of safety and concern for black lives in our country. We are doubly sick. Now an entire population of our people are finally being given some acknowledgement to their lack of safety, opportunities, resources, ect. We have been reminded racism runs deep in our systems and hearts. All of this swirls and it has swirled, but we have a few less distractions so that we can't divert our eyes from it any longer. 

I'm not saying anything new. You've heard this where ever you consume information. 

Yet, perhaps you've done what I've tried to do - restructure all the broken things in my mind. 

Yet, I came back with cut hands and head hung low because you can't simply reassemble something broken with the same pieces that couldn't sustain it before. You have to mix mediums now, reach into another pile of shattered glass and rebuild with a blend of pieces so when the glass structure is shaken again it will not teeter. It needs different pieces, ones with new grooves, designs, ages, eras in which it was made - so that in rebuilding you may have changed the original purpose of the glass and that may feel uncomfortable at first, but then you've remade it into something unique that can boast what it's made of now, instead of it's previous singular function.  I'll let you take what you will from that metaphor.

I digress. The point I want to make is that when I saw things shattering in our seemingly still society I wanted to push everything back into it's place. That's what this country has taught me, and while that in itself is not always bad - it hasn't helped me in this season. Because like in the metaphor, I'd just be putting on blinders again, believing in a false security, setting myself up to be disillusioned once more - when all the while, I've known this ground is shifty. Yet, acknowledging that means I have to change my tactics. Not merely change my outfit, or my tenacity, but also my mind, my thought process, where I find rest, what truths I tell myself- the list goes on. 

So, I can't push things back into place. I have to let some things be ground into sand and begin again as new glass. Then in other places, I just need to make mosaics. I have to embrace the seeming 'art' around me to be dashed and reshaped. I have to realize that whatever fake comfort I lose in that transformation - it's worth it. Whatever thing I'm tempted to mourn wasn't really all that beautiful - but instead a propaganda I was taught to value to keep me invested, to keep me spending, to keep me distracted. 

As I am moving beyond that bit, but keeping it ever with me where quietness and listening and observing teach me what I know is important and strip me from the lies I used to think were important: I'm rediscovering art. How to admire it. How to question it. How to let it just be art. How not to worship its' creator. How to learn from it. How to see the people behind it. How to love the people behind it, their wrongs, oddities, and differing perspectives - all included. 

I'm seeing things and people as glass, and I'm liking it. Because I can see now how the light hits them. I can appreciate how delicate they are and how that should inspire gentleness in me. I am seeing how they can be filled and emptied, what they can carry within, and the point at which they overflow. Now, when I see them on the ground or too high on a shelf, or unsteady - I know I need to approach with caution and help settle them in a new place or where they are. Before I just believed we were plastic. Strong, moldable, gets right back up - and in believing that lie of myself and others - I not only lacked perspective, I lacked reality. Plus, that lack of reality made me dismiss or overlook the care people truly need. 

...

In all of this shifting - of seeing people and art in a way I hadn't before I get to see music in that same way. This should probably be my easiest transition - its just entertainment, right? Not for me. Sound, instruments, words, rhythm - the way they all line up - that's how I speak, communicate, understand, question - it's strangely a filter for my emotions. So no concerts, less albums, no sharing CDs in car rides, all of this - felt so big to me, not for the lack of the literal things - that's secondary, but for the silence it created. It showed me this thing I love so much breaks too. There are times it has felt totally irrelevant in the past 4 months. I hated that fact. That my old friend - who had caught me so many times was illusive, quiet, and without inspiration. My confidant couldn't hear me, and I didn't really know what to say. 

Besides the cyclical understanding in these revelations and reminders that God is my only true source, my only foundation that can't crack or buckle from the stress - I'm encouraged once again to find the beauty in what's fragile. Music wasn't important because it was made of brick. It wasn't a place to land because of its perfection. It has always been this deep friend because it tells me real stories about real pain, joy, loss, confusion. Its vulnerability, its honesty, and its unfiltered, unapologetic recounting of reality has long been why I sit and listen. 

I go to music to be reverent, but the world told to go to be distracted. That's why the music paused. That's why the sound stopped. Because it became about ignoring things for comfort's sake instead of recognizing, listening, and inviting someone to tell their story. Music is glass. So are we. That's why we can find reverence in the rhythm. We are made of the same stuff. Easier to break than you may have realized, but strong in the fire - moldable even in the flames. 

...

I hope that whatever is shifting, breaking or broken, whatever dust surrounds you that you are tempted to be settled with - that you'd remember it's never too late to rebuild, rethink, or just remember why you started isn't the same reason you've been sustaining it. I pray that all these things move you. I pray that fear isn't where you build your foundation. I pray that in all our lives the reality and truth of things will always matter more than lies we were born with, or comfort ourselves with. 

Keep going.

You are artwork.

...

"Out here in the dark

Underneath a canopy of stars

Constellations falling from Your heart

Tell me that I'm not alone

'Cause honestly I'm so alone

Promise me I'm not alone

Promise me I'm not alone

.

When I felt the light of the moon on my face

The memory of sun that been shining for days

You've already been in this desolate place

You've already been here and You've made a way

Pinpricks of glory strung out across the sky

Memories of darkness undone by the light

Reminding me You are right here by my side

You're here by my side

You're here by my side"

"Constellations", Ellie Holcomb