Old Post from 2015

The Canvas

This shell is not me.
You see this shell and you think you see me.
This shell carries a message.
That message is limited.
Yes, from within this encasement I comment.
Sure sometimes you will see joy, other times sorrow and other times deep thought.
It is but a canvas I paint upon, it is not me.
Me, I rest within.
At times, especially upon awakening, I look in the mirror and see the casing.
The canvas.
I too get momentarily tricked into thinking it is me.
No, it isn’t.
For I recollect that in my dreams it was nowhere to be found.
The great “I” of my dreams, that’s me.
Yes, conflict will bring illustrated illness upon the canvas, that is as it always was worked out in creation’s story.
The fall of man.
I must admit that even the recognizable, identity toting features upon this canvas are yet a genealogical project.
But it isn’t me.
It isn’t the me who will see my way out of difficulties.
It isn’t the me who will hope, and see hope rewarded with deliverance.
It isn’t the me which will one day see God.
I will one day leave this casing behind.
It will have served its purpose by then.
Part of that purpose being to aid in my submitting to my Creator.
Coming to terms with my God.
Like the butterfly, I will transcend.
It will be the completion of my work upon this canvas.
Not for its display in a gallery, but rather for its return to its origin.
To become a scant memory.
For it isn’t me.
This canvas.

I can also be contacted at;
and, turbans713@yahoo.com
or Facebook as Miguel Angel Oquendo


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