Imperfection creates originality.
Our bodies are our homes that we are born into, our own personal temple. We create alters within us, some days we honor ourselves and other times we forget to. We take part in a routine of ridicule. Instead of confession we place judgment onto ourselves. We take our bodies and break it into parts, which then we continue to examine, with a socially constructed view of beauty.
The stained glass windows of our temple become mirrors, reflecting the self-hate we begin to worship. We have the tendency to thrive on finding problems, because embracing success doesn’t come to us as naturally.
We look towards the media to create false idols, to place a pressures ourselves to look like everyone else. We seek to find our creator in the shadows of what brings us pain, putting all our faith into the shallow promises of the media.
Our temples become ruins, empty and crumble with the slightest touch. Exposed and vulnerable to the elements of society, every headline and image causing our core to rumble and the walls to cave in.
We look upon the ruin of our creation and begin to question our creator, we seek answers that seem to fade into the noise around us.
We must look upon the ruin and accept it is a lesson, a reminder of the pressures we gave into. Like the stained glass windows, that lay scattered on the ground, still reflect their color light.
We must reach within ourselves, grasp our innocence in our hands, to being building our temple again. Stone by stone we detox the thoughts of comparison, we choose to see beauty within ourselves rather than only in others.
It takes time to build our temple back up, at times it stills looks unbalanced and creaks when the wind pushed against the wall. Yet the stained glass windows cast an array of light upon the temple, blanketing every curve and edge in watercolors.
We promise ourselves to take each day to visit the temple, to mediate on its beauty and strength. We place our hands together as we kneel and pray, finding our creator within.