Tag Archives: Masks

Like We Don’t Exist

The other day while I was walking to Port Authority after a doctor’s appointment, I noticed a young boy swaying and stumbling under the weight of his huge backpack like if he was drunk.

Photo Credit: Louie Ortega | Creative Commons

At a distance, he appeared too young to be walking alone on the streets of Manhattan. I felt a tug and decided I would try to catch up and speak with him.

When I did, I discovered that he was a she, with short dusty brown hair, soft brown eyes, and wearing baggy khaki pants with a matching military jacket which seemed to droop on her 4″11″ frame.

“Hey, thanks a lot,” she said when I slipped her something. She had a beautiful smile even though most of her teeth were missing and her face was covered with sores.

If I were to guess, she was no more than eighteen years old, a transient and addicted to Meth. The sores were from scratching due to formication–which is the sensation of bugs crawling on or underneath the skin–a common side effect of Meth users.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Everything,” she said with a sigh, looking down and around to avoid making eye contact with me.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I noticed you back there and I’m glad I caught up to you,” I said.

“Really? You noticed me? Wow. No one ever notices me. It’s like I’m invisible or something. Even people I know and thought were my friends, avoid me.” Her voice cracked.

“I know what it’s like to feel invisible,” I said. I could feel my face flush and tears welling up. She searched my eyes. “My name is Whitney,” she said sticking her hand out to shake mine.

Here we were, two strangers, crossing paths, unbearing our souls on the corner of 42nd Street. The heartbeat of New York City. The epicenter of fame and fortune. As we stood there and talked, people rushed around us like we didn’t exist. The irony.

Before we parted ways, she asked if it would be okay to give me a hug. Even though I’m not the hugging type, I said yes. When we hugged, I knew she meant it.

Suffice it to say, this was the most memorable experience I’ve had in a long time. It was real. There were no walls, barriers, masks or pretenses. In contrast to all the years I worked in Corporate America, where pretenses and playing politics were the norm and being real was frowned upon. Go figure.

Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also.” Matthew 23:26

“Do not ye yet understand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the draught?
But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man.” Matthew 15:17-18

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All for the Masquerade

I’ve been quiet lately. I’ve been processing since my return from a conference and the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy.

I’ve been thinking the three C’s: Christians, Conferences and Churches. I realize in all three, people hide behind a masks.

Courtesy of Creative Commons

I remember learning the waltz once. I believe it was when I was attending acting school years ago. I didn’t find it difficult to learn. 

The steps are repetitive and monotous, around and around you go… 

As with any dance, there must be proper form. The traditional waltz is both elegant and dull. 

Christians seem to like to masquerade and dance the waltz. We seem to like to hide and go around in circles. 

Much like the Israelites did in the desert, never entering in and reaching the promise land. 

I can just see God looking down and thinking, “There they go, masquerading and dancing the waltz again.” 

I don’t know Lord, I honestly don’t know… but I agree, the waltz is whack and the whole masquerade thing is played out if you ask me. It’s got no swagga, no flow or flava… 

We’re just dancing in circles like a bunch of lost robots with plastered smiles on our faces… meanwhile we’re dying inside. 

I don’t know about you, but when I walk into a room full of Christians whether at a church or conference, it seems I can feel the weight of their pain and hurt behind their smiles. 

Everyone looks good on the outside; make-up’s perfect, hair and nails did, matching Gucci bag and shoes, a fashionable hat even… ohhhh and that smile, that same smile I see time and time again… The smile with hurting eyes… 

Their smiles say one thing, while their eyes say another. Switching their gaze away quickly, lest anyone finds out. The truth.  

We are so afraid to be found out and exposed. So afraid to be seen for who and what we are. 

So we just carry on, dancing the waltz and hiding behind our masks… smiling whilst our hearts cry and souls die. 

All for the Masquerade. 

Why do you think people wear masks?

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