Faith and Boundaries
It all begins with the inkling of a connection. In my case, Roya Ghassemi’s art spoke to me like a hallway of mirrors. Unsettling? A little. But ultimately, familiar and a form of home. So it is with faith. Remembering its boundaries, I find a way to make it mine. And in so doing, my faith becomes my family and I am theirs too.
Can I or can I not? How shall I say I yearn for you? What tells you I am open? I wish for the poison ivy to return to their vines. I don't need a garland for my chest. I am not Eve who listened to the snake. What I yearn for is to know you and in my knowing, learn to listen, to respect, to obey.
I leave a light on for me. I know it only takes a spark, to get the fire going. I am not the spark. I have a fire in me and still, I wait for the spark to get me going. Patience is a virtue.
What gives? Is it me? My love for you is specific, and so is my grief. I will no longer long for you. I will no longer long for you. I will no longer.
Are we high, are we setting new ground? I am present, I am applying myself, I am uncertain but sure. The paradox of freedom is that it is never free and yet, what is this unusual feeling of breath on my neck that doesn't imprison?
The comfort of a rainbow, knowing me and loving me that way, giving hope though I am hope. Flesh and blood, a lofty cloud - fear is temporal, purpose is forever. I received my consolation in desolation.
The seed and the nectar are your prize and yet, blessed are those who have not seen and still believe. Every petal is a secret, and every thorn a warning. You see me, but do you really know me? Blessed are those who believe.
The chosen one has her path. Her trajectory, her downfall, her inescapable destiny has been set. She knows she is free but she doesn't get up from her knees. Instead, she caresses the strength of her hair and tidies it to get ready.