The Pyramid System

My beliefs were neatly stacked in the shape of a pyramid. This was my belief system.

The most basic, truest beliefs were the bottom stones of the pyramid. These stones were big and solid, forming the foundation of everything I knew to be true. These beliefs consisted of: “God is good”, “The world is round”, and “Love is never-ending.”

The stones on the next level up were small and could be changed or eliminated entirely without affecting the foundation of the belief system. These smaller beliefs were: My favorite color is blue. I only use lip balm. My hair is black.

When he left, telling me he didn’t love me anymore, one of the foundation stones, “love is never-ending,” was pulled out. It was big stone. With one of the primary stones gone, all the other stones came tumbling down. All my beliefs lay piled in a disheveled heap. My pyramid had crumbled. I had crumbled. 

The remaining foundation stones needed to be reassessed to see if they too were lies. I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t know what was true anymore. I asked myself if indeed God was good, and if the world is really round.

Time passed and wounds began to heal. After careful and hysterical consideration, I accepted that God was good and the world was probably round. I began to rebuild. I changed my favorite color to red, start my career as a photographer/editor, died my hair brown, and began to wear make-up. This did not happen overnight. But it did happen.

Since then, I have added a new foundation stone. I now believe we got stuck in our belief system. And God brings us chaos, and sometimes pain, offering us the opportunity to realign ourselves, to reinvent ourselves into a brighter, newer, fresher version of who we are, sloughing off crusty old dreams and weary perceptions.

Oh, and I still believe love is never-ending. But it’s my loving, not necessarily theirs.  

The Uninvited Guest

She is the uninvited guest 
at the party
She is overdressed.
She is too shiny.
She doesn’t fit in.

At the parties
where everyone
is wearing black,
She ends up wearing white.
The parties where everyone
is wearing white,
She wears black.
She never gets it right.

She is a swollen pimple
on a life’s glorious,
perfect plan.

She writes too many words
for a poem,
too few
for a story…

As for being the uninvited guest,
if she’s here,
She must have been invited.

As far as
being to shiny,
well, can anyone
ever really be
too shiny?

To wear black
at the white-wearing parties
and white 
at the black-wearing parties,
gives a nice accent
to what might otherwise be
a monochromatic event.

And I think
that maybe
She’s not a pimple
but rather
an interesting birthmark
to remind us
how really boring
perfection can be.  

Too many words,
too few words,
to fit a literary format,
She’ll make up a new literary format.
She doesn’t care, you can see.