Beyond The Eyes And of what Meets Them

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

this is an essay i wrote for a class one day. I'm Planning to translate it into different languages.

When a body is keen with all its senses it paints a pretty Picasso you would hang on the wall. However, when a mind is keen with all its senses, it is never the less seen through a wall, shielding it from what can be discovered and what can be made possible. It is astounding what your body can endure at most unbelievable times. One should open their minds to what they are sensing and feeling, such as it is done when at the library during the free time at lunch.



Now, imagine many voices floating around you in a sea of silence. One might hear the relentless chatter as their jaws and tongues flow smoothly. An ear may catch a word or two from another’s discourse.  What about the others? They are on the couches grazing about with books, making a tanned layer of what had been accomplished from its handler. Imagine seats filled in at wooden tables, the wood itself vandalized and abuse from its past users. The smell of bread wafted throughout the room. The bitter smell of winter pours in through the glass door.



Look into the faces of those people. What story lies behind them?  What lies on the heartstrings, plucking them delicately like a harp?  Do their sore hearts mouth a tragedy? Or do they crack open wide, as if to make light of one’s constant bickering?

How many do you find with their jaws open wide, their tongues working without an end? How many do you find with their tongues caught between the words they are saying and what they actually meant? Who seems more concealed behind a mask?

When they are exposed, do their hearts grow sick along with the bitter winds of winter?



A face can tell a story but a body writes a book. Watch those people and how they conjure their footsteps so cunningly; a hasty change of the foot would master what comes next. Do they stand erect like a statue in Rhodes, high and mighty in its colored bronze? Do they slouch like a fox would when he is done with the task of stealing bread? How do their eyes meet the world? Do they stare it down confidently, ready to take on the challenges of what lays ahead? Do their eyes meet the ground as if they could not bear the very thought of trudging on any longer?


If you were to look about those things, the little details of people, places, or everyday ideas are just little windows. Paintings that are hung delicately onto a frame with no absolute purpose, but you would see it as a window to another person’s life. Their every word is read and expected as if it had come out of a book. A script you may put it. There is one Earth, Illic est unus Terra, filled with billions of tinier worlds peaking from inside the clouds, to touching the glistening stars that pierce the sky of another place. When a body is keen with all its senses, it paints a little Picasso you would hang on the wall.

Submitted: December 13, 2011

© Copyright 2022 John Wanderlei. All rights reserved.

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I've never seen an essay in this format before, very creative and poetic!

Sun, February 12th, 2012 6:59am



Sun, February 12th, 2012 2:14pm

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