A Tale of Windows - Part II

(for Part I, click here)


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...If you leave the smudges, you will soon loose everything else. You already avoid the light. You already see nothing beyond your own pane.

"But..." my voice faded to a whisper as the realization dawned upon me:

They were my smudges.

 

My house. My windows. My smudges.

 

Wordlessly, I filled a bucket and picked up a sponge. Painfully, I dipped into the warm, soapy water and began to scrub. May no one ever know what it cost me to clean that first window! I felt the dirt, the grease, and the mold scrub off as though the filth was torn fom my very soul. I cried unrestrainedly, finding it necessary to stop my work every few minutes to exchange foul-smelling black water for fresh, clear water from the tap.

 

But as I finished that first window, as the light came pouring in with greater beauty than I could ever remember, I caught my first glimpse of life beyond the pane. Beautiful world! The second window was cleaned so quickly, I didn't even have time to remember how each smudge it held had come into existence. I wanted to see again! I wanted the dirt gone! I wanted others to come and marvel at the view with me! The smudges were nothing, compared to the glorious light and immaculate sight that clean windows offered!

...I was there, I must confess, for hours. Never before, and never since, have my windows seen such thickly-laid smudges. A few times, I came upon a smear so big, so hard to eradicate, so vivid in the memory of how it came to be, that I almost gave up. But then I would hear the musical "Keep going! You are only just beginning to really see!" from the pure, untainted light shining beside me, and I knew I couldn't stop.

Now, when the sun rises each morning, it finds me sitting before my windows, waiting. As it pierces through the crystal-clear panes, my joy knows no bounds. Yes, smudges still come, often daily, but now I know the truth. The effort to clean my windows is nothing compared to the glorious light I see through spotless panes. If I scrub them faithfully, immediately, never leaving a single smudge through the night, I receive the greatest of rewards:

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Pure.

Undefiled.

LIGHT.
 

A Tale of Windows - Part I

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The sunlight came suddenly and brilliantly. Streaming and sparkling its way through the panes, it bestowed one beautiful, golden-morning kiss on the welcoming sun room.

In my dreams.

Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth as the warmth hit my back, I turned angrily to survey the brazen light's handiwork. Prickles of irritation raced up my spine at the sight.

Smudges.

Big and little, high and low, from one side to the other - my windows were covered in greasy, grimy smears. There were smudges from drooling babies and sticky-mouthed toddlers. Smudges from careless young people and oblivious old ones. Smudges from dearest friends and hated enemies. Never had I met a soul - be he kind or cruel - who had left my windows free of his grime. Some few had realized their mistakes, had tried to right the wrong, but I could see their dirty fingerprints still.



After a while, the panes had grown so blurry - more like fogged glass than smeared windows - and I so used to the dirt, that I could see only smudges. As far as I was concerned, no landscape existed beyond the glass. How I despised those two things which brought the smears before my eyes and memory: friends (who continued to leave fingerprints - I had remedied that by shutting my doors to them) and sunlight. Unstoppable sunlight.

Of course, I could - by closing blinds, wearing dark glasses, or shutting myself in a closet - avoid seeing the light. Yet the very knowledge that, heedless of my effors, it would shine upon those dirty panes, day after day, was pure torture. And for some reason, somehow, I felt a sickening pull to watch the light mock me each morning. I couldn't help looking, and I hated to see.

You could clean them, you know.

I shook my head vehemently, slamming my still-clenched fists to my ears. This was worst part of my morning vigil. Every time the light glowed through my fogged windows, the persistent gleam suggested this thought. Daily, I repulsed it.

"No! It's not for me to do! Did I put the smudges there? Was I so careless? No! They made the smudges!" - oh, the inexhaustible list of "theys" in my mind! - "They did! They ought to clean them! Common decency demands it! Friendship - if they still call themselves friends - demands it! It is theirs to do!"

I spun around, eyes snapped shut, trying to black out the light, the windows, and everything else. Trying to hold the tears inside.


To be continued...