The Enlightenment of Imbalance

Every day, I am surrounded by people who build black and white answers out of the bricks of a multicolored world.

Each day, I meet people who would boil the ocean in an attempt to eliminate the salt.

Everywhere, I hear the voices of those who would reverse-engineer the human spirit as if its nature were no different than that of a wheelbarrow.

Always, I sit among people who stare at the popcorn through entire movies; who talk out loud when the actors are silent, because the rest -- the images, the music -- means nothing to them.

I watch them gather facts and put them into a curio cabinet in their minds, thinking they will be complete when it is full.

I hear them brag about their complete independence to those from whom they seek approval.

They are all so sure about their own personal perspectives; they are all so busy, busy, busy, which makes them important, for sure.

When they feel beautiful, they document in a picture and share; when they feel lonely, they say things that will endear them to crowds.

And I all I want is to knock them sideways, a little, so that they teeter on the balance beam, if only for a minute -- not to force them to walk on my beam; just to make them wobble, because it is in that moment that Truth flashes like a bulb in the dark, leaving behind its fading image in the eyes, leaving its everlasting impression on the hungry spirit but disappearing from the heart, which after all, is just a muscle.