I was flipping through TV the other evening, hoping to find the History Channel, when some show came on about people changing homes and lives with someone else for a time. I didn't watch, but for just a moment I thought about what it would be like if, for a brief moment of days, we were judged by what we had within us, not outside of us.I had to take the Bat Truck in for a service appointment recently after being up for 20+ hours. I don't know if my work clothes were tossed in the washer or trash, but I remember getting home and putting on sweats, my long hair twisted up in a scrunchy and running the truck in before coming home to collapse into sleep. I set the alarm to get there before they closed, did the hair and makeup, putting on snug jeans and my leather jacket. When I got there, he service manager, still working, said "oh, yes, it's ready. Wasn't it nice of your Mom to drop it off this morning!"
But I remember too well, walking in and seeing the remnants of the glow of interest in someones eyes, like two candles that suddenly extinguished when they spied my female form, as if someone had leaned down and blown the flames out. There is little that is more humiliating then being judged strictly on what is outside. One fellow actually stopped short of shaking my hand and said "I prefer men". I said "So do I, but let's talk about the opening you have". (World's shortest interview.)
We are so often judged by outward trappings, making assumptions before even taking the time to get to know the person. If you saw me in line at the grocery, you would see a curvy "country gal" in jeans and a cotton shirt or sweater. No fancy painted nails (work makes that a little difficult to keep up), no designer clothes and no fuss. My bag is from Midway or a discount store, not Gucci. "Doctor" is just a title on a business card, my abilities, for what they are, are hidden by a few freckles and a shirt that lost a battle with some bacon grease. I'm someones Mother, someones Sister. You can't judge from the outside what I have done, what I can do and what I will do.Some might notice the hair, the eyes or the curve of the hip, but some would dismiss me as ordinary. You would not see that inner strength which could handle a load that would have sent most women and many men, packing. You would not see past the outer human form, one who has learned daily how fragile life can be; how tough, in violence, in loss, we are capable of being. Not the bones and the flesh, for they are transient, but the heart that drives those bones and that flesh into life. Fragile bones of unbreakable will.
We all look into the mirror and see different things, but we know what we are, truly are, before we even look in the mirror. And when we are done with this earth, we all are reduced to the very same elements, a scattering of chemical components, laughter and tears, the smells of cool transient flesh, and ammoniac hair. The outside body is nothing more than an illusion of a coordinated whole of skin and hair and bone that cover that which is our true self, that which is our secret and our familiar.
When that moment comes when I am once again reduced to those elements, I picture myself, looking down from above on my form, hopefully intact and quite old, a frail, wrinkled husk of what was once a warrior, at least in my mind. I will look down at that significant shape that contains no life, no more profound than an empty door frame, that shape that bears no relation to the person that existed within, and I will say, that is not ME. But I will not grieve for that empty vessel, for fear and grief and hope are only words that souls who never feared or grieved or hoped hold for what they never possessed and cannot understand until the words are forgotten. Think about that as you turn in to bed tonight. When you go to sleep, the room is usually dark; there is silence but for the measure of breath in and out. You are aware of your body, yet you are not, releasing your thoughts, releasing yourself for sleep. Before that moment, when all is empty and sleep descends, you are simply you, there in that moment before sleep takes over and you never were. That is the true you, that is your secret and your familiar, the one you wish was reflected in anothers eyes as they look at you. That is the you that you believe will look back at you in the mirror in the morning as you wake. Sometimes it is, sometimes it is not.
That young girl with small hands, might carry within her and upon her, arms of courage that you or I may never experience. That man that is full of words and win, might collapse like a house of paper, if ever faced with challenge that didn't come with backup and someone else's money. For what truly defines them is not their physical form.
What would it be like if, for all of us, there for a day or a span of days, you were not your bank balance, constituency, color, gender or neighborhood? You were just you, without that haughty pride based, not on any core part of yourself, but simply the divine right of birthplace or sex. You were just you, the person that watches the stars go out at night.What if just for a day, you were judged solely on what you've read, what you've learned the hard way, what you are, what drives and inspires. What if you were valued for your innate abilities to survive and prosper through that day without birthright; handling yourself and your actions without apology, but simply by the human vanity of your own strengths and the grace of He who loves us as we are.
If that day came, who would the world see?
- Brigid 2013
