Our home, this universe is blackened beneath the shroud of hatred and loathing, disgraced, distorted with slander, sharpness, and scorn. This world, needs no more hate, needs no more brashness, biting bitterness that leaves teeth marks on the soul, and traces of tears on flesh.
Gentleness is a master of tempers, a treatment for broken hearts, and broken people. A remedy for war, for witless assault, aggression of the human spirit.
Gentleness is my grandmother's fragile footsteps, arriving on the brick porch, lighter than air, the delicate lilt of her voice; soft murmuring and melodies on the radio, crawling through the pint-sized speakers, like sunbeams; the pale moon suspended over an iridescent lake, in the hollow of a forest asleep; sea foam, candle light, a whisper in the night, a mother's lullaby, summer breezes, bliss, a goodnight kiss.
If civilization were to classify gentleness as a gender, it would be female, as it is chiefly regarded by the male as frailty, a fault, a consequential mark in character.
It is past due, though, that the masquerade ends, for a grand finale with gentleness, a theater production, where the ruby red curtains in all their velvet strung glory are parted to unveil that the falsely masked gentleness is in truth a character of refined strength.
Gentleness indeed is not a riddance of strength, but an exercise of strength.
Harsh tones are wind in the wildfire of oppression and brutality. Thereupon, let us embrace a gentle nature, thoughtful with our tones, selective in what we let slip from our tongues. Extend a hand to hold, a smile to bless, an embrace to savor, even for a stranger.
Gentleness is but a wing in the flight of love, and love, faithful love, can redeem this blackened world.
Title Quote: Saint Francis de Sales
Photo Credits: Wendy Bevan for Mary Claire Italy magazine, scanned by Diciassette (17) at www.thefashionspot.com.