Its Thursday morning and last night we got our first hint of the snow we southerners look forward to once a year. But the dim light of the morning would reveal nothing of the sort. No evidence of what is to come; nothing but a wet black road. I enjoy leaving early for just such a reason — the long solitude of a conversation with the cosmos. The conversations happen on may levels...the road and the tires, the wet and the tire, the birds and the sunrise, the sky and the clouds, the air and what moves through it....etc. As I drove in, I listened to the road, wetness and tires...its like a continued sticky, like constantly pulling duct tape from skin but less painful. In that sound is the heartbeat of the cosmos, the white noise that is the road to anywhere but here. My eyes strained into the almost-night morning as the trees and poles struggled to separate themselves from the thick black of the night before. The tiny headlights and taillights weaving across the lanes of shiny black. I wondered what it must look like to anyone who had never seen cars or someone far more advanced who only saw it as ignorance chasing pipedreams and conformists needing something that was completely unimportant and selfish. What if it was something that had never seen people; would it be trying to figure out what the thin line means down the center of the road and why the little objects sometimes crashed.....(yeah, one of those mornings....)
I hurried along the wet unslick at my normal pace; fast. It was clear to me that the threat of black ice or worse was only a hope left unanswered at this time. It was at best the result of a mild rain. The morning grew brighter and then it was day. My mind was still lost in the mist of the darkness, still wondering about many things. I thought of the joy of clockmakers; so many tiny little parts separate but united, little parts depending on other parts quite different, all working together in the bliss of function vs conscience. I like meeting new people and studying the unobvious similarities among them. I am always amazed at the complexities behind their eyes or just below their skin. Sometimes the blood beneathe their flesh sounds different; but most things below are more common than whats above. I try to imagine their stories and struggles that they hide behind the projected clean cut, smiling, professional glare so maticulously painted on their smug faces with color sharpies.
The face is quite the peach...it does so many things that are really all limited by the perception of the eye. Nothing else of the face is unique when not enslaved by the eye. Sure you can taste, feel or smell a face; but the value of which is really still dominated by the eye. With the eye, we see and communicate based on the face; we form opinions and judgements with the eye of the face and the person attached to it; and yes, we value or devalue with the eye when we look at the face.
Hmmm...so what if we had no eyes? maybe sonar or whatever else. Would there still be so many wars and prejudices? Absolutely; the eye is but an extension of ourselves, driven by our own perceptions beyond its mere function to mold the world according to our instruction. Unfortunately, we as humans will always find something to separate us from each other; even if we were all clones of the same person. Such is our nature. A tomato can never be an orange; even in the dark. Even without eyes, each one has a different impact.