Tuesday, November 24, 2015

We spend our lives on the surface, the very top layer of a world that, at once, frightens us and fills us with awe. Sometimes it rumbles beneath us, like an animal disturbed by our presence, but it also takes us on a joyous ride, spinning through the universe and revealing a panorama of incredible beauty.

Our individual presence is a tiny thing. Yet as we develop as part of a global society, we become a collective creature of enormous power. It seems that we get swept along in a rush hour of events that overwhelm our individuality.

In the midst of this it is easy to forget that we still have some control over our own destinies. We may choose to ride the tiger or to take a walk in the woods. We, as individuals, each make an impact on the world by our choices. Just as the wings of a butterfly can theoretically impact world events, we also add certain colors to the world.

It is easy to be stunned by the storms that seem to swirl around us, and perhaps, in shock, to get lost in anger or fear, but we dictate our own limitations.

We are entering a period of thanksgiving and hope in this season. I wrote a poem for our Christmas card this year called “Paintings”. It deals with our responsibilities and blessings as we fulfill our individual roles as painters of this beautiful, scary world in which we live.

For any of you who are not on our Christmas card list, if you would like one that also includes a beautiful photograph of a special earthbound rainbow, write me at glennkc@aol.com and I will send you an email copy of the card.

And may you all have a blessed Thanksgiving.

Glenn K. Currie

Paintings

We each bear different colors,
Gifts of our ancestors,
Our creators.
We take that palette
And add the shades
Of our individual journeys.

We are the artists,
Born to paint the world.
We may tattoo the earth
With images that scream.
Work with silent brush strokes
In quiet corners,
Or, perhaps, produce things
Of astonishing beauty.

The choices are ours alone.
Our canvas is a planet
Born of miracles.
The pictures we paint
Are our gifts,
And our burdens.