The Man In the Mirror

Who is the man in the mirror that stares back at me through eyes of blue that can scarce seen behind lenses reflecting bright light? Those eyes appear so young and vibrant, though cast behind a mask of skin that seem to mock Youthfulness through its presentation of a road map of blessings and plight. What of the soul that looks out through those blue tented windows at the world? It feels powerful enough to soar on the wings of Eagles, only to feel confined in a body of aging mortal flesh. A body that grows weaker with the passing minutes, hours and passing days. Looking back over the roads traveled there are smiles and many times remorse, thinking of good friends, family, and successes, but often pain, anguish, and tribulation and little to rejoice. Such is the richness of life well lived; such is the fabric of meaningful love; such is the movement of the universe, and the cocktail of fate that pulls upon the thoughts and reflections of the musing soul. As I ponder the deep thoughts and what this life of mine has accomplished, I raise my silent voice And denounce the battle of time and dampening of the fire that feeds my internal being. It erodes the body I silently shout to scions of nature that totally controls all being. Take my physical power but know that my mind will not be dominated by self-pity and will reach out with power so long as my mind can function unincumbered by time and affliction. I will stride, or limp, or crawl forth with powerful resolve to enjoy and live life to its fullest, shrugging off attempts of others who warn of dangers to life and limb. I will live life, not live out life and will face each new day with gladness, thankfulness, and eagerness to find a new meaning to the time left to me on this earth. I will not hide from woe, disease, or the damage done to the mortal body, but will embrace the things life gives with gusto and steadfast refusal to let my life force dim. This will be my compass for the final few years of my existence and when I finally set in a state of physical deterioration, that prohibits me from living life at its fullest, I will then welcome the specter who comes with his hand outstretched, whose business is to Shepherd to that great, mysterious place beyond this dimension. It is there that my soul will then take flight and be unencumbered by aged frailties and doubts. For those who will then be viewing their approaching mortality, I say, know that life may be at its greatest level of sweetness when it is viewed from the play of life’s last act and the stage prepared for what lies beyond the Rubicon. This soul that stares into the mirror is convinced by the logic of the great Creator and the faith that the creative Trinity will keep the promises that there will be another life that will transcend all boundless imagination and joy for the soul that yearns to soar among the stars.