From The Inside, Looking Out
I can see everything so clearly,
everything, except for me.
I can see the beauty in others,
but struggle to see mine.
I can see the happiness and joy from the outside,
but when looking within, it gets lost.
Lost within, deep inside.
I long for the joy that I cannot find.
I long for the connection that others have.
My eyes can see inside others,
but they will not allow me to see what I try to hide.
A lonely, dark place,
where my eyes cannot see what it means to be me.
Isolated in fear,
this cannot be who I am.
This cannot be my life,
or my reason.
I do not see what others see,
but do they see what I can?
Am I the only one,
who cannot see within,
from the inside, looking out?
As my teacher impressed upon me, we often see in others what we cannot see in ourselves. Both the good and the bad.
I may be wrong about this, but I believe life (and whatever comes after it) is a journey, not a destination. There seems to be nothing harder than trudging through that dark, cold, lonely forest day after day with only the occasional glimpse of a sunbeam to rekindle hope. But the forest, with its shadows and its noises is preparing you for a different stage in your journey even if it seems as though everyone else you see is flying like an eagle above the gloomy treetops.
As my teacher impressed upon me, we often see in others what we cannot see in ourselves. Both the good and the bad.
I may be wrong about this, but I believe life (and whatever comes after it) is a journey, not a destination. There seems to be nothing harder than trudging through that dark, cold, lonely forest day after day with only the occasional glimpse of a sunbeam to rekindle hope. But the forest, with its shadows and its noises is preparing you for a different stage in your journey even if it seems as though everyone else you see is flying like an eagle above the gloomy treetops.