The Tally aka Santa Fe Shadowbloom
Reserved for Mary.
A little story posted on Instagram with the smaller version of this mobile:
“What is it?” I heard someone ask.
“It’s so big,” said another, craning her neck to see.
“It looks heavy,” the man beside me whispered.
Then, even more quietly, “far too heavy.”
“Who put it there?” a small girl wondered out loud.
“I don’t know,” her younger brother said, tugging her gray coat. “But it scares me.”
As the crowd grew, someone in the front shouted, “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”
And the man beside me repeated, “far too hard.”
“It’s blocking the light,” a voice called out.
“Making me feel so dark inside,” rang another.
“And cold,” came another, “desperately cold.”
“And sad,” yelled yet another, “it fills me with such sadness.”
“It’s just a rock,” spat a lazy-jawed man. “Quit your whining.”
It seemed like I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t all walking this narrow path.
Were we moving forward or back? Did it matter anymore?
“I think if we all work together,” a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes gently proposed, “we might be able to move it out of the way.”
“Why should I help you?” called that man.
“Nobody tells me what to do,” cried out another.
“We don’t even know what’s on the other side,” still another.
And so it went.
Ego. Pride. Ignorance.
And so it went.
Blame. Ridicule. Shame.
Unable to come together, we fell apart; incapable of moving that which stood before—or between—us.
And since we could not go back and we could not go forward, we simply sat, watching hope lose itself in the shadows.
And we wondered how something that seemed so simple – working together to spark a common good – could end up so twisted and dark.
What can you do this week to let more light in, for yourself and others?
Reserved for Mary.
A little story posted on Instagram with the smaller version of this mobile:
“What is it?” I heard someone ask.
“It’s so big,” said another, craning her neck to see.
“It looks heavy,” the man beside me whispered.
Then, even more quietly, “far too heavy.”
“Who put it there?” a small girl wondered out loud.
“I don’t know,” her younger brother said, tugging her gray coat. “But it scares me.”
As the crowd grew, someone in the front shouted, “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”
And the man beside me repeated, “far too hard.”
“It’s blocking the light,” a voice called out.
“Making me feel so dark inside,” rang another.
“And cold,” came another, “desperately cold.”
“And sad,” yelled yet another, “it fills me with such sadness.”
“It’s just a rock,” spat a lazy-jawed man. “Quit your whining.”
It seemed like I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t all walking this narrow path.
Were we moving forward or back? Did it matter anymore?
“I think if we all work together,” a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes gently proposed, “we might be able to move it out of the way.”
“Why should I help you?” called that man.
“Nobody tells me what to do,” cried out another.
“We don’t even know what’s on the other side,” still another.
And so it went.
Ego. Pride. Ignorance.
And so it went.
Blame. Ridicule. Shame.
Unable to come together, we fell apart; incapable of moving that which stood before—or between—us.
And since we could not go back and we could not go forward, we simply sat, watching hope lose itself in the shadows.
And we wondered how something that seemed so simple – working together to spark a common good – could end up so twisted and dark.
What can you do this week to let more light in, for yourself and others?
Reserved for Mary.
A little story posted on Instagram with the smaller version of this mobile:
“What is it?” I heard someone ask.
“It’s so big,” said another, craning her neck to see.
“It looks heavy,” the man beside me whispered.
Then, even more quietly, “far too heavy.”
“Who put it there?” a small girl wondered out loud.
“I don’t know,” her younger brother said, tugging her gray coat. “But it scares me.”
As the crowd grew, someone in the front shouted, “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”
And the man beside me repeated, “far too hard.”
“It’s blocking the light,” a voice called out.
“Making me feel so dark inside,” rang another.
“And cold,” came another, “desperately cold.”
“And sad,” yelled yet another, “it fills me with such sadness.”
“It’s just a rock,” spat a lazy-jawed man. “Quit your whining.”
It seemed like I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t all walking this narrow path.
Were we moving forward or back? Did it matter anymore?
“I think if we all work together,” a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes gently proposed, “we might be able to move it out of the way.”
“Why should I help you?” called that man.
“Nobody tells me what to do,” cried out another.
“We don’t even know what’s on the other side,” still another.
And so it went.
Ego. Pride. Ignorance.
And so it went.
Blame. Ridicule. Shame.
Unable to come together, we fell apart; incapable of moving that which stood before—or between—us.
And since we could not go back and we could not go forward, we simply sat, watching hope lose itself in the shadows.
And we wondered how something that seemed so simple – working together to spark a common good – could end up so twisted and dark.
What can you do this week to let more light in, for yourself and others?