I wrote this as an English class assignment, but it turned out well enough for me to desire the rest of the world view it as well. Enjoy.
Unfortunately, I read Mrs. Olsen’s short story while listening to a particularly sad song of mine. It seems the emotions of the song allowed my heart to open up a bit, just enough for the words of the story to ring through to the depths where my compassion lies amidst my soul.
More often than not, my reading is done from a position of skepticism. The class discussions when we first started were telling a story I seldom realize is even present, though one that has the most effect. I approach almost everything in life, just as the reading, with a single question in mind, “What are you trying to sell me?”. Audioslave and Mrs. Olsen, for a brief moment, held a mirror to my soul and asked me another question, “What is it you are so afraid to be sold?”. Hence, my post. Take note, for a glimpse of a soul is few and far between.
During these moments of review, I can see the effects even a short period of life has on a person, and the scars with which that person is left to remember that life by. It is no wonder we shiver in the dark, for in the dark is where the evil of life takes hold. No wonder I put on my doubt-colored glasses in the morning, for without that doubt the scars suddenly ache, and I am reminded once again of the pain.
It is also with a great degree of effort that one is required to not only see, but recognize light and goodness, while wearing the glasses of doubt. Those glasses are shaded with darkness, and every morning I wake up and cover my eyes with that dark. Where then, is one left to turn when the very evil that has scared us is responsible for the lingering pain and denial of bliss we inflict upon ourselves every time those glasses are worn?
This balancing act is a vicious one, I say. For the glasses not only shield us from the searing brilliance of the light, but the love brought with it as well. Most of our pasts are filled with the darkness, and the light reveals that pain and forces us to confront it; both hurt so very much.
I suppose in the end, it is with fear we hide from the light, because at least in the dark we don’t have to see just how scarred and malformed we have truly become.