Lips are ten times more expressive an organ than eyes. They pout, frown, pucker, stretch wide to laugh, smile or take in a huge bite of cake. They smash into straight lines of disapproval. They tremble.
They touch things in a multitude of ways, i.e., a light brush of the lips, a peck, a flurry of kisses. Try touching eyeballs to anything and pain ensues.
Lips are used to spit, sneer, curl, and they can be plump, narrow, full, lavished with lipstick, or chapped and bleeding. Sure sure, eyes can ooze, be puffy, and bruised, but anywhere on the body can be used to demonstrate that sort of imagery.
Lips are so much more. Everyone knows when an athlete, or anyone else for that matter, says the internationally known “F” word with the volume turned low.
They eyes would need help from the surrounding muscles, and eyebrows to get that attitude across.
I just saw some man’s post (on FB) about how there’s always been conflict in the middle east, specifically he meant the Israel and Palestinian issue, and he doesn’t care. He wishes they’d stop so his gas prices would go down and he calls them all assholes and so on and so forth. And what struck me was that I used to feel that way, when I wasn’t seeing anyone on either side as humans.
And I am ashamed.
Not that long ago, “They” were just these strange Un-American war mongers in a part of the world I couldn’t be bothered to remember where exactly it was on a map. I’m pretty certain my Anthro teacher would say I was being ethnocentric.
Yes. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of my apathy to humans who live far away, and have cultures I couldn’t be bothered to understand. Until I did. Heck, I study ancient cultures for FUN, why not living, breathing, “They do what?!”, “They eat WHAT?” cultures, because until I start making inroads to understanding other ways of thinking, I’ll just keep thinking the same old things I’ve always thought, and how will my children learn to care for anyone different than us (U.S.) if I am not an example? It could happen yes, but it has a higher chance of happening if I wade into that murky, unknown first.
My lesson to contemplate today is, People everywhere, especially the people I tell myself I don’t like, that I see as wrong and hate-filled, are exactly the people I need to love.
Not that anyone in particular told me to consider this idea. It came to me. Or maybe it’s been building up over time. Either way, my knee-jerk response is, “Really?” thick with sarcasm, and wanting to list and underline the actions and thoughts I find so reprehensible, as if to say, “See!? How could anyone love someone like that?”
I’d rather sit with arms crossed or fingers pointing, and forget that that’s exactly what ‘they’ are thinking about those I already love. And probably me too. If I want ‘them’ to look beyond what scares them, and see the beauty in others, as people who deserve rights (for example) as everyone else, then don’t I need to do the same?
I feel like one of the creatures in Dr. Seuss’ story, The Zax, unwilling to alter my course and so never moving forward.
This morning, as I was in line to exit the drive-through where parents drop kids off for school, the driver of the car in front of me got out and sprinted in my direction. My first thought was she was going to tell me a brake light was out, or something to that effect, as she had been in the loop first and at some point was behind me.
Anyway, there I was, glad I had put a baseball cap over my bed head, and was wearing actual clothes instead of a coat over pajamas, when I saw a small book in her hand and felt my warning hackles rise a little. I do live in conservative-ville, where people think hypnosis is how I steal souls for the devil. The strangers I see regularly in my day-to-day activities invite me to attend church with them, and after I say no, they never smile and wave again. If this woman was going to invite me to ‘worship’ with her, it would be my first drive-by invitation.
She got close enough that there was no mistaking she wanted to talk to me and I let the window down, trying out a good morning smile. She thanked me for having a Human Rights Campaign sticker on the back of my car. It’s a blue equal sign, and it’s on the back window so it can’t be missed. Now, all too aware of my coffee breath, I nodded, smiled and said something along the lines of “Sure thing. Thank you.” She fast walked back to her car and I’ve been happily stunned ever since, imagining this town populated with people who believe in equal rights for all.
I have seen other cars sporting the sticker here, it’s rare, and one time I was so thrilled to spot one, I honked and waved. Sure that driver probably thought I was high, and had mistaken them for a brownie, but I had to show my solidarity. Today I was on the receiving end of that same idea and it felt good. Happy Wednesday.
I’ve been pushing the idea of taking an author photo around in my head for some time. Mostly I keep thinking of how boring it sounds, sitting around while someone takes pictures of me, hoping to get a good smile, both eyes open, and may it please the publisher, catching a spark of intelligence in my countenance.
When I look through books and see author photos I think, what does what they look like have to do with the stories they write? Nothing. But then I decided it could be a fun thing. You know, add a cool hat, or a kids tiara, I even snapped a selfie the other day with a pencil up my nose. (Yes I regressed to age ten, I blame FB) My friends found it amusing, but I doubt a publisher would agree.
And then it hit me. I can have a regular, everyday author photo, yawn, but in the background I want Jennifer Lawrence photobombing. I like that she’s not only doing this to other actors and such, but at places where everyone is supposed to be proper and on their best behaviour. I would choose Jennifer or Sir Ian McKellan. I will be seen as the hard-working writer, but one who doesn’t take herself so seriously, that she’d release a photo of herself with ‘Richard III’ snarling in the background.