The Glass

Half empty or half full?

There are people who will say the glass is half empty, with a Mona Lisa smile, full well knowing they partook of the contents of that glass. Life flowing over the rim into their wide open mouth. Every last drop enjoyed to the fullest. Satisfaction slowly running down their chin. Not even bothering to wipe.
Evidence of a life well lived.

There are people who will say the glass is half full, because they stopped to fill it. Rewarded in seeing how it nurtured and fed and inspired. Watered seeds planted throughout the entire community.
Abundant in its fruit.

And then there are those who will see the glass and smash it in the street with their jealousy and lack. Never understanding how you had a special glass stored away, you would have gladly given. Gladly shared. Gladly pulled up a seat at your very own table, rim to rim in celebration.

Yet they will go on feasting on shards.
Feasting on shards.
Feasting. on shards.

There are people who will see the glass lying in the street, broken beyond hope, and delay their own journey to repair it. Golden paste connecting each fragment. Stitching glass with staples, piece by piece, until you are able to see your own reflection in that glass.
Stronger and more beautiful than before.
Whole.

And the glass blower knows that hot molten lava sand can be shaped and worked and formed and turned into something beautiful or hardy.
The glass blower knows.
Each glass.

Each glass, fragile in its beauty, resilient in its use, has been through that fire.