Now Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour. And a man lame from birth was being carried, whom they laid daily at that gate of the temple which is called Beautiful to ask alms of those who entered the temple. Seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple, he asked for alms. And Peter directed his gaze at him, with John, and said, "Look at us." And he fixed his attention upon them, expecting to receive something from them. But Peter said, "I have no silver and gold, but I give you what I have; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazereth, walk." And he took him by the right hand and raised him up; and immediately his feet and ankles were made strong. And leaping up he stood and walked and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. And all the people saw him walking and praising God, and recognized him as the one who sat for alms at the Beautiful Gate of the temple; and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.
--This Bible passage, along with someone very close to me, inspired me to write what is posted below. Some of you may be able to understand, and others may not; but I believe almost everyone can take something out of this passage and the emotions I felt while reading this. I owe my new found writing inspiration to someone who works to see me succeed, yearns to see me happy, and is truly a good friend. Most of you may not be able to see the symbolism, but to those who understand, it makes all the difference.
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I am not an artist--and I'm not sure I ever was. Though writing is a part of me, I can not and would not consider what I write beautiful. I write with a purpose, a motive, a reason--and that does not constitute the basis of beauty. I write for truth, and although truth is nature, the truth is often times ugly.
For a very long time now I've denied my written passion, locking it away somewhere deep within me with the desire for it to vanish completely. Yet, writing is still a part of me--something I can't destroy, cannot hide, cannot deny. Writing is a part of me much like my right arm; I forget it's there, forget it's important, until it is cut off and gone...and as long as I live, my arm would always be a part of me, whether I have the capability, ability, or the opportunity to use it. I cannot hide, cannot deny that an arm is a part of me, for it is a limb, just as I cannot hide or deny that writing is a part of me. It is, and always will be, a limb of my heart and a limb of my soul.
My life has come to a fork in the road and I must choose a path to follow. Do I change my focus and accept I no longer yearn to seek the truth, and chose the path of a true artist? Or do I continue my quest, revealing the truth to those who cannot find it themselves? Though these two paths may seem just one, their journey takes you to two different destinations. Each path must stop and end at one point, but somewhere, from the moment you begin, there will inevitably be a bend. These bends, found on two different paths, unconsciously mimic each other.
In moments of darkness, the traveler finds himself in deep despair, Asking for guidance as his Expectations of his voyage fall short. It is then, in this Ninth Hour, he discovers the power of Persistence, striving to touch those Lame From Birth, and finds Healing not only with others, but within himself. Then, and only then, can he appreciate What He Has, what he has done, and discover his true Identity--when the darkness fades, his journey has ended, and all these Elements come together to create a true Masterpiece.
Though these paths end differently, their voyage is the same. It is the journey of an artist. Our lives all end differently, our lives all start differently. Yet, the footprints left on any artist's journey is always the same.
With deep despair comes disappointment; darkness seeking for light. But when the light descends like a heavenly dove, the journey alone may be considered a Masterpiece.
I don't know where my path is headed, where my journey will stop, or what I'm trying to reach. I have two paths to choose from, and although at first glance they may seem different, they truly are one of the same. It is here, at this fork in the road, I have finally looked back to see where I started, and to my shock and total dismay, it is exactly what I hoped not to find.
Up until this point, I have traveled the road of an artist. Too blind to see it, too ignorant to admit it, I too am an artist. In my mind, nothing I have done may be considered a piece of art, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder--you can not see a person's soul, a person's intentions, and can not determine what may be beautiful to them.
I can not determine the end of my journey, for it is not my choice to decide. My life, from the very start, was placed at the Beautiful Gate, and it is the only journey I've ever known, I just didn't know what it was. I always was, is, and will be an artist whose journey began at the Gate Called Beautiful, and from there, until my destinations end, I will forever travel the path of a true artist.
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