I don’t like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and it isn’t of much value. Life hasn’t revealed its beauty to them. (Boris Pasternak)
One accidental nudge while dusting and one of my ceramic angels falls to the hardwood floor. She loses her wings. Super glue helps connect the thin wings, but not for long. The next day they sever again when I try to attach them to her back. Maybe glue isn’t an adequate celestial adhesive.
Human beings who try to follow angelic example tend to be fragile sometimes, too. I aim toward the positive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be thrown off balance when an unexpected burst of anger heads toward me, or some tragedy affects someone I love. I suppose that if perfect balance could be bought at the discount store, it wouldn’t be worth much.
From the back this kneeling de-wingled angel could have a rare bone disorder. From the front she looks like a pale, pious young girl. I am well-freckled, slightly tanned, and not pious. Only the over-ninety-set would consider me young. I am not made of plaster; bending is possible, both physical and mental. Generally, the latter is far more difficult. Physical injuries tend to be easier to overcome. Moreover, I can roll a single resentment down a metaphorical mountain and create an avalanche.
Ceramic statues can’t do much on their own. I’m grateful that as long as I have survived, the beauty of life remains available, with or without wings. Funny, but when I recognize the places where someone else’s severed wings have left scars, I feel a blessed camaraderie. Sure, I want to hear about another person’s accomplishments. But the struggle to get there is where the beauty lies.
terrypetersen 