Pierced Through And Through

. She stood there transfixed inside her coat of many colors and patches filthy with leaves and dirt and unknown stains, huddling inside her layer after layer of smelly rags trying to keep warm on this cold and blustery winter day. I glanced down at her feet and winced. Once the snow began falling her feet would not fare as well in those mismatched tennis shoes with their terminal holes in the toes as the rest of her would fare in her multiple layers of clothes. Her hair was matted and greasy her face streaked with dirt and grime had worked into the creases and pores of her raddled old skin but she stood there utterly transfixed .....hypnotized and mesmerized .....spellbound and bewitched .............riveted because there inches away hanging on the wall in front of her- - an original Rembrandt. I watched glory dawn on her countenance as she stood there pierced through and through and after a while she mumbled I'm not what you would call a common ordinary person and I'm definitely not a wealthy woman in the way things are toted up Nor am I a power in the world or even a ripple in a small pond. I'm just a poor old bag lady wandered in from the streets to get warm or maybe to steal this museum blind like that security guard over there thinks. I'm not sure who she was speaking to she didn't turn her head and look at me or the man a few steps away perhaps she spoke to the painting while standing there so utterly spellbound. After a few more minutes she reached her hand out a hand crippled and gnarled with arthritis reaching out but not touching not even trying to touch It was more like her body was saying Behold. Then she murmured here I stand inches away from an original Rembrandt hanging on the wall I am old and grey and a nobody in every eye I meet but here I am standing in the presence of a genius who lived and breathed and pursued his art centuries ago painting the soul of this man capturing the spirit of this man bringing his depths to the surface his inner being, his inner identity, his pain, his grief, his shame, his regrets all his emotional intensity there for the world of mankind to see century after century a human being and his essence individual and private no more a living breathing work of art. Look at those eyes- the eyes are so sorrowful that I want to comfort the man forgive him for the wrong he has done that haunts the halls of the mind behind those eyes I can see he is an aging warrior once arrogant and cruel who only now sees that the sword in his hand has done too much... done too awful much. How do I know this? Witness those grieving eyes looking inward. And look! Look at those colors can you believe how all the colors brown can come so alive in brushstrokes so rich and vibrant Yes- now I can say I know the feeling of standing in the presence of genius because I once upon a time saw an original Rembrandt hanging on a wall inches away from me. She noted the security guard angling through the crowds in our direction and slipped away to the exit and the security guard arrived huffing and puffing his face all red where'd she go? that ragged creature here a moment ago. I tell these street people they can't come in here but they do as they will yes, sir, they trespass whenever our backs are turned sorry ma'am, sir, I hope she didn't disturb you begging for money and such. He sniffed and marched away still indignant at the trespass. "Hummph. Trespass? What trespass? " the man a few feet away muttered. "She spoke wiser than that tour guide over there and with more heart than the guard has in his puffed-up chest and with more understanding than most of us have or could ever have of the kind of regret that I can see now in the eyes of that old soldier with the golden helmet." . ~~~~~~~~~~~~~©2017 susan williams