A Soul's Countenance

 

            You sit in the park near me.  I look into your eyes and I realize I don’t know you.  Who are you? What have the years of your life shaped you into? You are some being different from me, and I don’t know what to say to you. Your eyes speak of wisdom and your smooth features tell of a kind soul, but there is something else in your face, in your eyes. Something I can never know as you do, but something that you can show me.

 

            I dig deeper.  What is it?  My eyes search your body for clues.  There is nothing.  Your hands are folded in your lap, an image of tranquility.  What about you is so intriguing?  There must be something.  In the dusk I see your face effect an indifferent expression.  You rise slightly from the bench where you are sitting to adjust your dress, and then I see it.

 

            A quivering lip.

 

            Fear?  No. It cannot be fear.  You sit on the bench as if you don’t have a care in the world.  Your demeanor is that of one who waits all day for the setting of the sun.  It is almost as if you would sit on the bench until you die or until the world ends if you had the choice, but something tells me you will go on with your life.

 

            What is behind the quivering of the lip?  I know it cannot be rage.  There is nothing in this park that could cause such anger.  The birds are singing in the trees, heralds of love and peace.  Your outward appearance shows this love, this tranquility, but behind those blue pools that are your eyes I see your nakedness.  I can see how vulnerable you really are.  Then your eyes flicker to mine, and the truth of you hits me as a storm bashing itself against the shore of the sea.

 

            Pain. Pain lies behind your eyes!  I see now that your anguish is so great that no tears, no wails, no words can express it.  You sit on the bench and show nothing.  That is your peace, your discipline. You don’t even try to express what you feel, and for some reason I know that you never will.  You sit on the bench as careless as a child in the prime of health, and yet, inside you your pain rages.  It will always rage.  You have chosen this.

           

            I gaze into your eyes in sorrow, and at last I begin to understand the pure and raw agony that you suffer and why you have chosen to hide it.  The simple shifting of your eyes’ focus has opened a window to your soul for me.  I see all the world’s pain and more- more than anyone can bear, but you contain it.  You will never allow it to burden anyone else as it has burdened you.  It is your curse, and you have accepted that.

 

            Even I shrink from your gaze.  I divert my eyes, searching for something happy, anything that will save me from that awful sorrow.  My vision rests on children playing, but their innocence sickens me in the light of what I have just witnessed in you.  I turn my gaze instead to an old woman feeding pigeons. 

 

            Normally I would find this image calming, but now all I can think of is how horribly mortal that woman is.  Her flesh is so frail, so weak.  Who will cry when she dies?  Who loves her?  Would anyone die in her place?  Would she want anyone to?  I wonder how much time she has left.

 

            I look to you again on the bench across from mine.  There is nothing I can do to ease your pain, and as I realize this I feel tears pool in my eyes.  I cannot bear you anymore.  I cannot survive your grief-stricken gaze.  I love you, but I cannot endure you.

 

            Desperately, I bury my face in my hands, allowing my tears to flow freely. 

 

            Moments pass.  My tears slow and then stop before escaping into the evening air.  When I look up you are gone.  The bench is empty and the woman feeding the birds is looking at me.  I realize that I must look as though I have seen a ghost, both beautiful and terrible.  I give her a slight reassuring smile and resolve to ignore her, returning to my thoughts.

 

            For those few moments in that park, I knew you as no one else did.  I knew you as, perhaps, no one ever will.  You see, I was the only one in the park who took the time to see what you were trying to hide.  In those few moments I saw you as no one else did, your peace and your pain as one, and I am better for it.

 

            I rise from the bench and begin the walk down the cobblestone street to my home.  My heart goes out to you, the only being that I feel I have ever fully known.  I wish I could have spoken to you, but I will never see you again, so I whisper the words that I would have spoken to the trees, the city, and the wind.

Reviews

[Emily B]

I am in awe of the sketch you've drawn here. It feels so real that I think it must have been based on something, but I know that by your word it is drawn purely from the imagination. I think this must be the most brilliant thing I've read in quite a while. This experience of seeing into someone's soul, realizing the pain they feel, is probably the most spiritual thing we can feel. You've painted it vividly and with much emotion.

You know that there may be a thing or two you can do to improve the grammar later on. That's of no consequence right now. It's just a divine piece of work!

[Rod Zinkel]

I like the experience you've depicted. Actually, I had something of a similar experience: on a first date with someone I worked with, after we had been together for several hours, I asked her if she would help me in a writing exercise. Would she allow me to look into her eyes for five minutes, with no communication between us. She broke up the serious silence of that time by crossing her eyes. That is a great memory for me.

On the writing of it, there is something I look for to understand your, or the narrator's, empathy. I want to see something that tells you, by close observance, she is hiding pain. It may be something as simple as, after gazing for some time, she looks to the ground. Or, from having the experience of trying to hide pain, once in a while I just can't help but cringe in pain. I'd like to see something external that leads to your seeing the soul's countenance.

[Arly Parent]

wow
amazingly awesome
it really flows
jus really awesome

[Spoken]

This is priceless. I absolutely love every word you have written. What a picture you have painted. Powerful emotion, thought provoking.. to connect with someone at such a divine level by a simple glance into their eyes. "The eyes are the window to the soul" You have a gift

[oneZtwoLLs]

Very intriguing. I have felt this way towards strangers before, and you paint the feeling most beautifully.

[Celtic Cat]

Wow, this is absolutely brilliant. There was a calmness in this piece, but it was all yours. I know what you speak of, the momentary connection of souls through the windows (eyes) and you suddenly know their essence. It's only happened to me once, and I wouldn't take it back if I could. This is so beautiful. They say a pain shared is a pain lessened, so perhaps your tears gave her some relief. Excellent write.

[Raef C. Boylan]

Interesting sketch. I like how we are right inside your narrator's head as he/she analyses, yet also indirectly being addressed as the other figure in the story.
You make good use of silent questions.
I also like how we don't necessarily realise that the addressee is a stranger until nearer the end.

Apologies for the short review.
Overall, i enjoyed this and think it's well-written.

Thanks for posting it.

[Gypsy Willow]

Wow Doug... Wow. Beautiful and powerful. You truly are a master of words. The way you bring words to life never ceases to amaze me...

[Sean M. Addams]

very good job on this ... has a poetic feel to it .. lots of good detail and flows very well

[Bob Carney, "Soon ..]

This is far more than digging deep. This is a frickin' excavation. The almost stalkerish undertones leave me a little breathless as does your gift for examination and understanding. How often do we teeter at the edge of understanding someone, anyone, without being willing to go deep enough to share that pain with them? It's a highly emphatic mode of transportation and the only way to truly reach understanding and knowing. This was an exceptional write.

[Alistair Canlin]

You slowly crafted an intimate picture, but still kept certain details vague, personal descriptions, smells, but did it really need that intricacy? The pain is palpable, but so is the confusion, this made you feel many emotions, which for a short piece is quite a task.
Good one.