Change is either neither good nor bad or both good and bad; your perspective, your choice. That’s the subjective nature of reality, as I see it. It could be written with your own loving hand on tear stained paper, or casually revealed as a piece of a movie montage. The life we choose to view in any given moment only illuminates the path perceived by peering through one pair of spectacles. But if we dare to peek outside that singular frame of reference we see we’re suspended in a sea of spectacles, each one just and true within themselves.
Whatever way it’s viewed, the one thing change will always be is inclusive. Change touches everyone every way; from the trivial to the tragic. A misplaced appointment can scramble my synapses and hijack my intention of health; a simple call from a sibling cancertainly stir dreaded thoughts of mortality from the silt in my soup-kettle soul.
How should we view this? Where should we turn; to friends, family, and loved ones; to God above; to the God within; to hell with this victimizing bull-shit and write our own story with depictions of realistic immortality?
…
My world has changed.
Although, as much as my melodramatic imaginations would blind me to the fact, her’s has changed more, with less sense or sympathy. Why would a brother be denied his only life-long friend; mothers their sleep; or a son his mother’s milk, all as she is forced to believe in heaven while bounding through hell.
I cannot see the glory through the gloom,
But yet I pray, for my dear sister’s sake,
This cancerous cloud will, like my nimble mood,
Have need enough its own great change to make.
