The Glass Ceiling

You guys have seen those creepy mirrors in interrogation rooms, right? The ones in movies where on side of the glass there are people sitting in the dark looking at people on the other side who can’t see them? Well, yeah, did you know that one side of the mirror being dark and the other being well-lit is a requirement for the mirror to work in this way?

Kinda makes sense, doesn’t it? You’ll be able to see yourself in your windows at night when the light is on in your room, but you won’t be able to during the day when the sun is shining through.

Why do I bring up this interesting-yet-too-specific-and-takes-a-long-time-to-explain-so-it-really-doesn’t-belong-in-a-blog-post piece of information?

Good question.

Well, the other day I had this vision of me standing in a room without roofing. The sun was beating down on me and it was around mid-day. The sky was beautiful, with colours swirling and dissolving into each other like clouds. I wanted to reach out and touch them. So I did.

Well, I tried.

There was a ceiling made of glass in my way.

Since the sun was really bright, it didn’t look like there was a glass ceiling. I pushed first, tapped second, and then I just stood there. I looked out at all the beautiful stuff above me and felt like there was nothing I could do to truly experience them.

Then, as time passed, the sun slowly slipped out of view. It was evening. There was a light in my room, one brighter than the light outside. And now, when I looked up, I could see the glass. I could see myself in the glass. But I could also see the sky and the colours above because the sun hadn’t gone down yet. My reflection and the evening sky were two faint images superimposed on each other, still on the glass. I stared at it without blinking.

And then night came and I was alone. With myself. The glass was now a pure reflection of me and my room.

I know what the vision was about. It was about many things things that have present significance.

You see, I’m about to spend a year at home because I didn’t get into the postgraduate programmes I wanted to get into, which is partly something I didn’t want anyway but anxiety doesn’t care about what I want. I want so many things. During the day, when the rest of the world is alive, I’m constantly reminded of what I cannot have, be it because of my interests, where I come from, who I know etc. It’s just like the sun beating down on me through the glass. And I jump all day, hoping to catch one of those colourful clouds but I bang my head against the glass. This is all I can do during the day.

Then evening comes and I realise that there is a thick sheet of glass between me and the world, that the curse the 21st century casts on youth is the ability to see all that they cannot be or have. In the twilight hours, as I see myself and the world in the glass of fate and destiny, I am inspired by how it grounds me in reality by placing the good and the bad into context. This prepares me for the hours to come, when loneliness will take hold of me.

In the deep hours of the night, I am all I see. I look at my reflection on the glass and I write, speak, and draw. I reinvent, nay find myself in the void. This act does have the power to heal and restore but it does so only if I stare at the glass in the evening. To see myself and the world at the same time, to stop fighting and observe my existence in all its beauty, glory, and tragedy is the only thing that can bring healing in the night.

Well, now you know why I create everything in the night when everyone else is sound asleep.

About the artworks:

The first artwork contains a lot of ideas that I’ve already explored in previous posts with mountains, gyres, allusions to authorship, etc. The ice from the Hemingway post makes a reappearance as this post has a lot to do with fear of losing potential (https://thefourthdimensionoflife.wordpress.com/2021/07/10/obsessed-with-loss-of-potential-jpg/). Lions, as you know, mean a lot to me. They keep appearing in my dreams. I’ve been a lion in some and I’ve also been protected and attacked by them in some. There are other reasons but I won’t go into them now. If you have a good eye, you probably noticed how the speech bubble kinda looks like a human being, with the lion and its mane making up the mouth. Not exactly planned but I believe these things happen for a reason. Makes sense in context anyway.

The second artwork is more minimalistic. You can see the colours yellow and red making an appearance. And you probably know what they mean if you’ve been keeping up with the posts. If not check this post (https://thefourthdimensionoflife.wordpress.com/2021/08/04/why-i-even-try/)

Nostalgia

Books are like machines. Your hands are like oil to its cogs, keeping them alive and working in your mind. – Stefan 🙂

The paint brush shakes in my hand as I try to make a delicate stroke. I hear the alarm, it’s 6.00 a.m. I flinch, the paint at the end of my brush seems to explode and fall onto the paper below me. The sun seems to peep over the horizon, it’s rays changing the colour of the unfinished piece of art. I smile. Another night. It’s not like I’ve always loved working in the peace of the night, but as of late, I’ve been enjoying one specific part, always watching the sunrise and never missing it.

I sigh, put my head back and close my eyes, sinking into my chair, just enjoying the moment. I open them and look at the slow swish of the blades of the fan, cutting the deep yellow rays of the morning sun. I sit up and look around on my desk. It’s a mess. My eyes drift to the stack of books on my desk.

I feel sad.

From when I was a child, books have been my friends. Being shy, I never had many friends and so, I always had a lot of time on my hands. With no TV to stare at and no video games in my reach, I would turn to books, with an excitement that is amazing, even to think about.

As time passed, I found more and more things to occupy my time with. A 30 year old guitar lying around the house was a turning point in my life. I took it in my hands, and I could feel it, the indefinite potential and the promise of great joy. So I spent every minute I had with it. My dislike for musical notations and my desperation to learn, somehow taught me to learn the guitar without them and I embarked on a new journey, but in taking that turn, I forgot all about books, I forgot about the wave of energy and excitement that flooded me when I saw a new book. The sound of music somehow replaced it, but it never completely filled it, because the excitement was different, the experiences unique on their own accord.

Time passed and I started exploring my childhood love to draw and paint. My endeavors on the blank paper took the time that my musical explorations left behind. Again, my books were left behind, and they mournfully looked on from the shelf, where dust settled on them as the clock ticked on, increasing my guilt. But I ignored it, justifying it as the unavoidable result of my development into an all-rounder, something I’ve always worked towards.

Time passed on…………

Then came into my life a new challenge. Long gone were the days when I could play music and live life easy and get an A on all my papers studying overnight. My backpack got heavier each year and the assignments piled up, taking what little vestige of time I had left.

The dust settled inching it’s way into another millimeter every year, camouflaging my once beloved friends, blending them with the furniture and what else there was that never moved.

Now here I am. School’s over and my guitar sits in it’s case. My paint sits safe in the back of my drawer. They are still alive in my life however, adding perspective and colour to everything I do. But they don’t take up much of the clock. Not like they used to.

I wonder what I could do to use my time well………

I get up from my chair and move over to my books. I take one and wipe the dust from it’s cover.

Nostalgia! That must be how I can best describe it. A longing for a time past, an excitement that took me through at least five books a week.
I look at the book with love. I open it. Then I look at my bed. I should probably sleep. The book looks at me. It somehow seems to understand. ‘No Worries’ seems to hang out from it like a placard.
Not this time, I say. Not this time.
I sit down once again, this time with a book in my hand.

Have you ever felt like I did? Do you have a hobby you lost in time?

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God bless! 😊