Or the Unbeatable Brightness of Seeing.
I was born with busy eyes.
It’s not my fault, it’s just the way things are.
Colour-wise, they are blue-grey. Curiously enough, I have it from a reliable source that they remained the same colour since my birth – eyes that have never grown up in sum, which likely explains why I see the world the way I do.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, it’s just that they are hard to keep up with at times. One ends up doing a lot of explaining, usually about just what exactly the devil one is doing in restricted areas, on the wrong side of high fences or locked gates, at the top of stairwells clearly posted Not Open to Public.
But I was just tagging along after my eyes, I explain, I can’t leave them to wander on their own. (This rarely carries much weight, so I rely on the old adage – when in Rome, mumble something in English, you’ll likely get off lighter.)
They’re very hard to keep an eye on besides, despite their being housed firmly where you’d expect them.
They always seem to be wandering over textures, judging light and the thickness of the air. Chasing motes and dandelion seeds, calculating the flight of birds. They are continually going astray. I never know where I’ll find them.
They’re a little shy, that’s why they skirt warily around the edges of other eyes, just in case they slip and plummet down to whatever deep waters are awaiting, but otherwise they’re fearless. No sky is too big to scan, no detail to small to focus on.
When in company, I am continually having to explain why I’m so slow. Well, I stammer, there was a statue back there, yes I know it’s been there for ages and it’ll be there tomorrow, but that’s just the point. Maybe tomorrow it’ll rain, or there’ll be sun backlighting it or there’ll be different clouds. I just had to make sure I saw it properly today.
It’s just that there’s a lot in front of my eyes to look after. (I’ve tried closing them, but that’s no help, there is a lot to see behind closed eyes. Look at any city, all those closed shutters – doesn’t mean that life has gone on hold behind them.)
They are fairly reliable, thankfully, they do keep themselves on the road, do check the rear-view mirror, the speedometer and the traffic, but when they’ve got no serious assignment, that’s when they just take off on their own.
SO much to look at, and only the two of us, they must think. So much moss on trees, so many trees in a forest, such a variety of leaves for all seasons, such endearing smile lines at the corners of mouths, such grace in hands and strides… It’s a full-time job to get all that seen.
It’s quite a responsibility, too.
I’ve always loved the story from the life of Carl Gustav Jung. During a tour of the American West, he spends some time in company of (I think) a Pueblo tribe. Slowly, he come to realize that the entire tribe, every single member, shares a secret that no outsider knows. After much persuasion and cajoling (and possibly a certain amount of alcohol and an equal lack of scruples), he badgers an elder of the tribe until the wise man exclaims : Crazy white men, you have no idea, when you’ve finally killed the last of our People, who is going to get up to greet the sun, who is going to make sure it journeys safely across the sky, and who will bid it farewell until the next dawn ? You will destroy the world.
Indeed. Now there is a good reason to keep an eye on things.
That’s why my eyes are so busy. It’s easy to forget to LOOK at things. It’s restful to be in familiar surroundings, so familiar that eyes are look without seeing. When you recognize everything, what’s left to look at ? Things must be looked carefully at in order to exist. Besides, that’s where stories come from…
It’s a big job, but somebody’s got to do it.
When my eyes do take a break, they prefer the horizon. That’s where they go when they feel the need a rest.
