In Our Book of Faces (SSR)

      From a humble, yet omnipotent force we have risen. A single subservient Earth has nurtured the every infinite whim or need of our humankind. And so forth, a myriad amount of souls will seek the nourishment that will be provided by this mothering planet for millennia to come. The Earth speaks to her abundance of children equally. She does not recognize race or gender. Age or intellect. Height or weight. Religion or social standings. She does not know the difference between beauty and beast. So, the question that is often posed asks why should we, as the Earth's children, should be subjected to such ridicule by one another?

      On the exterior we are all the same. We are one face in a Book of Faces strung together by the universe. Everyday we see faces. Some light, some dark, some flawless, some scarred. We add each face to our own Book of Faces. We flip through our book and see delight and sorrow. Contentment and hostility. And we, as the Earth's beloved children, can all relate to any emotion seen in our Book of Faces. 

      Every child, whether handsome or homely, has a face. Every child of the Earth has a life. Each life is, in many ways, different from the next one. Some lives require strength. Some lives require delicacy. Some require intelligence. Some require simplicity. 

      But if you were to take a step back and look on the unrobed surface, the lives and faces, they are all very similar as well. All lives require love. All lives require security. All require sustenance. All require happiness.

Ethiopian Girl.

 Village Headman in Malawi. 

 Happiness.

Kyoto, Japan.

Student of Political Sciences and Media.

Niece.

Dressed for Eid al-Adha Festival.

Deputy Sheriff in 1956.

Orphans.

Carnaval on Curacao.

Zoroastrain Iranian Girl.

Daydreamer.

Hindu Devotee.

Cousin.

Beautiful and Haunting.

      We can look at ourselves and wonder how many books our face belongs to. We can know that, after all of the faces have been seen, we are not just another face. Each of us represents something. Whether it be a country, an emotion, a family member, a friend, a time of year, a setting, etc., we cannot know. Each of us fills up a page in the universal Book of Faces. We can try our best to be perceived as we would like ourselves to be perceived, but the reality of the Book of Faces is that we can only ever write our own.

The Stop Sign on the Corner (SSR)

Caution: I'm not sure what goes on, I'm just writing what I have observed.

      On the corner of my street, there lives a stop sign. It roosts directly in the front lawn of a family that often crosses my mind. The stop sign is about 9 feet tall and reads "STOP". But the only thing special this particular stop sign is that it is a literal Red Herring.

      Forget, now, about the stop sign because that's not what this story is about. 

      This story is about the family that I mentioned earlier. This family is a bit unconventional. There is a mother and a father, and five female angels, aged from two to nine. Each angel had previously been an orphan.

      I hear my parents and neighbors talk about the family. Their blatant whispers say that the girls' adopted father is a drunk. This explains why he speaks in strings when he passes out candy on Halloween. The whispers cause me to wonder how a drunk man can take care of five angels. The whispers take pity on the angels. They wonder about what goes on inside the house. They think action should be taken to fix the situation, but do nothing nonetheless. The whispers focus on the fact that this man is a drunk, but they ignore the fact that he and his wife have agreed to adopt five orphans. Maybe he is a drunk, but maybe he is an honorable man, even so.

      Laughter resonates from the angels' lawn on sunlit days. Every time that I walk my dog past their house, they flock to us. Their faces light up at the sight of the dog. The girls scamper up to the dog, half tripping over their little legs. They laugh and giggle as the dog licks their faces. The littlest angel looks up at me with apple like cheeks burrowed in a wild mane of curls. She reminds me of myself as a child. Innocence is the only thing that she knows. She is unaware that the only father she knows is an alcoholic. She has no idea where she came from. She is blind to the fact that she is an angel. She only knows that she has no agenda but to play outside with her sisters. She only knows that she wants to pet the dog, so she does. 

      Some people might see these angels as unfortunate because of their circumstances. But these unfortunate angels giggle and frolic and shine. They are not broken considering their birth parents have past away and their new father is a drunk. They are the happiest creatures that I've ever come across. And I somewhat admire their persistence of happiness. I do not worry about the angels as many do. I can feel their mirthful heart beats as I watch them roam free while they play.

      The stop sign stands elegantly in their lawn. The stop sign tells you to stop. But the stop sign say something else too. It says "STOP, angels live here. Look at the angels and learn from them. Just stop for a minute and see beyond the surface of the situation." I taken the stop signs advice. The stop sign, I know, is much more than a Red Herring, or even a traffic regulation. The stop sign wants you to stop and consider that angels may be among you.

Defining Optimism (PB)

      Behind every lowly and dreary rain cloud there is an essence. It pours from the outer edge of its blockade of grey captors, seeking refuge in the eyes of souls down below. It creeps over ledges of clouds and into shadows on earth, aiming to touch the hopeless. It hums in the ears of those who will listen. It emits an aroma of all things euphoric, such as lavender and raindrops. It finds its way to the tongues, of the ones who haven't tasted in years. It is the hiatus between sorrow and glee. It is a crack. It is a break. 

      Many never truly understand the power behind this wild magic. Some try to define it by way of religion. And others by way of science. But this magic cannot be named. 

      The breath of a gloomy day cannot be inhaled by those who let this preeminent force enter their souls. This brilliance cannot be overtaken by the rigor of misery that engulfs the world on a somber day. With as much power as the ocean and stability as a mountain, it's reign lives on, unaffected by black thoughts that pollute the air beneath it. This is the frosted glow that can be seen behind every ashen cloud that has ever formed. This Glow! Force! Breach! It names its self as the Silver Lining.

       Few people ever notice the Silver Lining. These people are over powered by the mighty bitterness that follows them. Some people are haunted by a greedy and starving mist. But The Optimist ganders through the mist to see the everlasting and almighty Silver Lining. He hopes for it. Treasures it. Lives by it. He isn't blinded by the ghostly and solemn veil that seems to cover the earth. He sees the silver glow and is captivated by the opportunity of tomorrow, the promise of a sweet song, the bright future he knows lies ahead. His life becomes illuminated by the gap between sky and cloud. He revels in its radiance.

     The Silver Lining doesn't reveal its self to everyone. It can only be seen by those who accept it. It can only be seen by those who choose to see it. It can only be seen by those who long to dance in its light. For it can only be seen by The Optimist. True happiness can be achieved by the realization that the Silver Lining does exist. But exactly where it exists is unclear. Does the Silver Lining live trapped behind the clouds? Or does it flourish and grow within The Optimist's soul?