freeze frame

*Photo by Courtney Jeter


I love photographs with the same passion that I love words. As a passionate person, there's something comfortable in the stagnance of a moment or emotion captured - frozen in time to analyze, scrutinize and ultimately, understand.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about slowing things down. Freezing them - sitting and reveling in a moment for all the "nowness" that it is. I used to call it "being present," and while it's definitely that, I've discovered that it's more about appreciating the exact perfection of the place in time I occupy.

Last night I had about a half-hour to kill (or in my new language, "revel in") before the opera, so I jetted to Coffee Girls, one of my most favoritest coffee places on the Boulevard...and in KC. Enjoying a lovely passion-fruit iced tea (a newly discovered indulgence), I stumbled upon a copy of Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet (complete text here).

Gibran is a Lebanese poet who my Father introduced to me to in high school. In giving me this book, he gave me a wisdom that slows down time. Gibran's words are so simply profound that you could chew on them for hours and they would not lose their taste.

In The Prophet, a man is ready to depart from his homeland, and holds such a burning in his heart that it bursts forth and literally calls people from the city, sea and fields. As the crowds ask him questions, he elaborates on the mysterious passions and whims of life and the realities we constantly struggle with.

Since I've read and re-read his thoughts, I dove right into the good stuff. (I love when I'm familiar with a work and without care, can flip the pages until it feels right - starting 3/4 of the way in.)

(From "On Self-Knowledge")
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
Say not, "I have found the path of the soul." Say rather, "I have met the soul walking upon my path."
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.

I melted. What a lovely thought. On this beautiful spring night, staring out at the majestic wonder of urban Kansas City, I was unfolding.

I think so much about growing and walking, but not about the unfolding or foot in front of foot processes. I like to be ahead of time, thinking about the completely open flower, or the end of the race. The victory achieved.

"I am the true vine and my father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he trims clean so that it will be even more fruitful." John 15:1-2

God and Gibran...a team of co-conspirators were encouraging me to notice each step. To freeze frame the flower of my soul as it is...

(click) bathed in rainwater
(click) awash in sunlight
(click) pushing a centimeter taller
(click) burning with a deeper fuchsia than yesterday
(click) tentatively separating
(click) all petals pushed apart at the top
(click) closing slightly when a storm approaches, guarding it's innermost preciousness
(click) opening again as the thunder stops
(click) bursting forth
(click) releasing intoxicating fragrance
(click) exploding in full bloom