I was born with blue eyes outside, black inside.
Dead orbs do not accept the colors of the earth.
Picturesque landscapes can only be described.
Still, mist covered, morning ponds: just words.
Brilliant clothing at the Jamaican Festival: wasted on me.
Children, running and playing at the park: one dimensional.
The beauty of my wife’s face: experienced on my fingertips.
Gourmet meals: aroma and taste determine culinary opinion.

Although I am without sight, I am pleasantly gifted.
Eyes that see produce preconceived, prejudicial judgments.
I am able to meet a person from inside out, not outside in.
Sharing in conversations without eyes sets me free.
Words and emotions become my criteria for acceptance.
Shackles of skin color or appearance do not bind me.
Texture and deliverance of voices my sounding board.
Tender touches and hand shakes the measure of sincerity.

So, my lot in life is to see more clearly than most.
Physical darkness is the only limitation I must live with.
Spiritual illumination has become my Seeing Eye dog-
Guidance tempered by cured patience over time.
I need not fear the dark because that is where I live.
And, when asked,” Don’t you wonder what things look like?”
My reply is usually unsettling to say the least.
“Yes, do you think I asked to be blind?”
_________________________________

Chris Stienstra confronts the grim reaper in Shake My Hand.

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