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behind the closed door

Personal, Words

November 5, 2010

On one table, there lies a vase. A vase of extravagant colors, gleaming and reflecting light, casting off a blinding shine when viewed from different angles. The vase is new and untouched, as if it has been kept in a glass shell all of its short life. Hundreds of people of all ages come from miles around to get a glimpse of the vase. There is standing room only as people line up to attend the revealing of it. Eloquent words are given with impressive music from only the most notable musicians at its presentation. Brochures are passed around and pictures are flashed of its making and creation. The entire scene evokes emotion from all who approach, whether they had known of the vase before hand or not. When the curtain is closed and the music ends as the processional of people file out, the lights are turned off. There, in the empty room, lies the vase. Beautiful and new, but empty. Wasted and useless. Left in the dark in a locked room, holding only its own key.

On another table, a clay pot sits. A very plain, brown, rather lifeless clay pot. Faded artwork can be seen only when held up extremely close. A few people stand around the pot, briefly admiring what it had once been. There is no music or paintings or fancy lights. Just a room with the pot in the center, sitting amongst the small throng of dismissive onlookers. There are a few cracks in the pot from where it had been dropped and damaged over the course of its life, clearly worn down by use. The people turn away, one by one, and leave the room with the pot. But even as they leave, the flowers that can be seen when one looks inside the pot, continue to thrive, growing beautiful and strong. The life inside the pot does not know that its housing is dull and un-extravagent. It has all it needs inside, where though unexamined, it is full and thriving, full of life that continues to live on, even after the doors are closed.

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