In all my travels, as far around the globe as I’ve been, the most real discoveries I’ve ever made have been what I’ve found within myself, and in the moment of fresh perspective, a moment of seeing with new eyes.
Here within the walls of the heart we walk a new path, and as I wander so do many others.
It is a range we all travel. And on many a range there is built a home. But our home is not ever enough at times. Sometimes we must travel far just to remember it was there all the while. We must travel along the veins of emotion and down the deep valley of self discovery. We change in this moment always, without knowing why, without awareness of it.
And then, life happens. And we become something.
We become a thing sometimes. This thing is a monster, wrapped in a cage of thought, opening only to the trials of life, the key held by our own darker self. This thing is a monster, alive in us all.
This thing is rage.
It is rage that dawns in all hearts. This rage lives under the soul, beneath the force of light that keeps it tame. It masters our soul with time, and once ready, when the cage is broken, it becomes loosed in our lives.
We are then men of war, of storms and of toil.
Sorrow follows it down. Words of spite that barb like splinters fuel its thirst for life. It becomes a moan, loud in the world of men, and echoes through the heart like madness freed.
Rage becomes the eyes. They burn red with fire of hot iron and pierce hearts as arrows of steel. Mercy is not known by these eyes, as shadows of life faded with old love stain all walls it sets sight upon.
Rage becomes the mind, stinging the darkness with thoughts that no man can dream. Darkness itself becomes frightened of this rage, retreating far into the night, fading, dying to the light of full moons.
Traveling the range, we then remember.
But we are not rage. We are not of dark hearts. This rage is quelled by the light of truth, by new eyes able to see beyond the plains of chaos and into the bright fields of love.
And along the range we find our new eyes.
It is new eyes that see. They see past rage, past the moan of our sorrow and far again beyond the darkness that settles on the broken. These new eyes welcome the parting of our old useless world. They long for the destruction of our old lives.
And, once alive with eyes of truth, we part ways with a life that serves us no more.
We then become gratitude.
Rage begets horrors. Anger destroys the fire of life we carry with us all. But, under the blanket of truth, this hot iron is cooled. We look on with grateful eyes, and the past is then only a spot behind a burning bridge.
This rage, this once bright fire able to brand all men in shame is no more when looked upon in truth, when looked upon in discovery of self and in breathe of soul.
We should all look on our lives with new eyes when we feel the pain of old utter its sharp words. But, we must travel the range to do this.
In gratefulness we see our home still sitting proudly upon the range of our hearts. In truth we find the path back home, and we travel there.
Not wandering, not directionless. But with new purpose, with new life awaiting at our hearths threshold.
And in new eyes we find what was once lost to the world.
We find again, ourselves.