In the first visual picture frame, she stood looking helplessly at herself in the bureau mirror. White powered, caked on makeup masked her face. The lip stick she wore was a bright, ruby red. Large, dark black curls rest on her shoulders. Fleetingly in another visual frame, her facial hue appeared extremely pale as if she was suffering from anemia. The image of her eyes, a cistern of feelings, suggested that her soul was exhausted and on the verge of depletion.
“Baby Jane” images flashed rapidly in animation like vintage still picture frames—or was it jus’ my ‘magination running away with me?
“Cut,
Take Two,
Roll’em”
The black velvet dress that she wore draped her physique as if it had draggled in the sufferings of her muck and mire. Not a sound escaped her mouth. Entrapment. Dead silence. Her eyes were brown and glassy, depicting a blank stare. She appeared to be in deep thought. However, those were just superficially, controlled emotions that she tried to dress up in preparations for feigned, social display.
By the supernatural unction in my spirit, I knew better than to believe that she was, “blessed and highly favored,” a platitude of sorts that many women use as a spiritual cloak to define their emotional state or to pose a greeting, and or to hide their weaknesses. Although visibly sane, she was covertly hurting and failing in strength. War cries used to invoke the help of the Holy Spirit’s power laid dormant!
Her posture had “stoic” written across it. Inward self-inflictions, the likes of dried pus, waxed worse. She refused to relinquish them upon her Lord God—or were they afflictions from Him? Deep recessed pain ensued: Barred emotions on the other side of that mirror held her captive not allowing her pain to be released.
Following in succession similar to the turning of a novel’s page, the vision had begun to come to an end. She in her black dress drifted backwards as if in a twilight zone; gradually disappearing, along with all of the other features of her body, except for her face. Caked with white powdered makeup, it stood out, the imagery of an afterimage. The end.
Scripture:
Deep waters call out to what is deeper still; at the roar of your waterfalls all your breakers and your waves swirled over me. Psalm 42:7 ~Selah
~Yah©bahne
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Yahobahne "Designs" 