This past week, walking on Historic Main Street, I decided to seek silent respite from the heat by entering the Antique Emporium, a cavernous space draped in shadow. The building had once been a theater during the early nineteen-twenties.
Fading red-velvet walls, in various stages of decay, surround one, as forgotten objects compete for the eye's attention.
I was drawn to a box in a wooden case, obscured by various glass panes. Inside the cardboard box, among the collection of post cards and photographs from Time-gone-by, there was one photo in particular that remained in my hand.
The photograph is of a man, old and weathered. Hunger, poverty, ill-health have aged him noticeably He is carrying a large bucket of water. There is a straw basket strapped to his back. The basket appears full, heavy. The man is dressed simply. He wears sandals on his feet. The sun is shining brightly overhead. His grey hair is tousled. Perspiration glistens on his face. There is determination in his gaze.
I look at the photograph, for a long time. I study it. The figure in the image possesses humility, without being an object of humiliation. Presence is power. The straight-forward honesty of the photograph inspires deep introspection, and closer examination of the Self.
I decide to keep the printed image. It is a gentle reminder that we, regardless of our station in life, must always live in the Truth.
Purchase in hand, I smile knowingly. With my gift-wrapped treasure, I walk uphill towards home.
It is good to know where one is going.
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