By Philip J Bradbury
www.philipjbradbury.com
The windows to our soul they tell us. Our rheumy, bloodshot, squinting eyes tell others about the state of our soul? Something once-healthy and now derelict through negligence and wilful abuse?
I don’t know what my soul looks like – or anyone else’s, for that matter – but anything seen through such grimy, cracked glass cannot be showing the beauty that’s lying in wait for the unsuspecting viewer.
All I can ask, then, is that you don’t judge the inner by the outer, a dangerous exercise in any sphere of life. Rather, judge me, if you must, by my practical actions of love and compassion and by the tenderness with which I treat your kindness.
Many’s the book that promises much from its cover and delivers little from the words and vice versa. Many’s the politician, salesman and/or potential lover who promises … but you know that story, huh!
So, if you must look into my eyes, look no further. Create no story or fable from what you see, take no inference and make no assumptions for I am everyman and everywoman being the best they can in every given moment.
‘Tis not my trickery that makes you see false but your choice to see it. A book is just a guileless book. When you are disappointed or surprised, it is your choice to be.
So, when you look through my window – or any other – check first what you wish to see. That will be what you do see, through no fault of the mirror, cleverly masquerading as a window .
Carindale Writers Group 