The Crones of Old

Someone once said, we don’t see things as they are, we see things as we are…

What if that view is rose colored? Glorious ignorance, blissful denial, a saturated saccharine symphony of simplicity…

Until you can’t anymore, life slaps them off your face, they break, you break, either way the result is the same.

All you see is shatter, shards, side glances through a broken windshield, wishing, wanting, pining for those old pink lenses to shield you.

Life can never look the same once you finally see.

C.S. Lewis wrote, “When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about the joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?’

Is this the face? The one bare of all the pretenses of what we think we know of life? Bare of the rose tint bliss? Bare of the longing for something more; when we come to learn there is nothing out there capable of filling us? Scarred, tattered from the shattering. Those glasses, that windshield, shielded us. Now it is only us, no layer, just eyes seeing, and it is not all beauty, it is terror, it is pain, it is disappointment.

When the time comes,what we finally see; out there is so utterly disappointing, shattering, world view haunting, the only actual remaining choice is to look within. Is this why all the old wise crones are depicted as blind? Their view being ruined, ripped, rusted away,lead them to the only way they could actually see.

Why would the gods listen to us? Not until we know what we mean? Not until we know what we see? Perhaps we don’t really see, until we’re forced to look within.

We don’t see things as they are, we see things as we are, and not until we have eyes that look within can we really see what’s on the out, out there, within, it’s symbiotic. The ‘them’, the ‘us’ melts away into a ‘we’ and instead of a rose tinted view, actual roses can grow out of the pain.