Thursday, August 9, 2012

Blind Spot

Photo Credit: Morgue File by Kevil Roseel

We are living right in our in our blind spot.

From where I am–a flesh tree growing out of my own feet–I can see mountains, sky, earth and water. I can see a version of you, but I can't see myself. I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, backwards and flattened, made strange by the light of different rooms. I see one moment in a photograph. Physicality–a portrait. It's aiming at something.  It's not really showing me.

I hear my voice through my own ears, like water burbling through the pipes of a house. Recorded, my voice is not my own. Too low, too scratchy. I don't sound like that. I think I sound like my intention, not like my execution.

But I occur in the world, an event sudden and constant for those in my life. I am always occurring. Confused by my flattened image and distorted voice, I do not know how I occur. The wounded look in the eyes of a son tells me that again I have bruised his feelings. With attention, I can see that I have occurred as unkind rather than frank. I want to protect my intentions, defend them. You are so sensitive. I am just trying to help. I want to champion the world I can see through my viewfinder–the minute box through which I squint and guess at what picture might result when I click a button.

You teach me that the truth of me has nothing to do with this box-view or this rushing water through the pipes. I am happening. The me that matters happens. Water surges forth from sprinkler heads and either drenches passersby or nourishes a bed of flowers. When the button of my camera is pressed, the image that results will forever be pressed into time–a memory of love or anger or mutual understanding.

I am hidden from myself. I can see flowers. I can see cloudscapes. I can see loved ones. I cannot see myself. Not without you.


  1. This gave me actual goosebumps.

    I feel ridiculous coming here and saying this. Your writing is so ... well, it's so completely beyond me. It's visceral, really.

  2. This might be one of my favorite things that you've written. I love it so very, very much. This notion has bothered me as long as I can remember and you have just written it so beautifully, so eloquently.

  3. What you write here is as close to poetry as you can get without actually writing poetry. Beautifully written.

  4. Wow. Yes I meant to say just plain old WOW! This is as though you have crawled into my head and made sense of how I do NOT know me at all the me who occurs in the world is nothing like the me I know.
    Beautifully and perfectly explained and received. Excellent. <3

  5. This is good, Alan Watts used to say that there ARE no nouns. We're all verbs.

    On a lighter note, NOT being able to see myself usually works well for me. Some days, it means I have the bests eat in the house. Everybody else has to see me!

  6. I agree Tara---one of your very best--a great description of what many must feel, but you articulated so well. Thanks

  7. Interestingly phrased. I often wonder which is the "real us"-the one we see ourselves as, or the one others see.

  8. This along with a piece I read over at TangledLou's this week reminds me of a quote I once read about how we wish to be judged by our intentions while we consistently judge others by their actions. I know I scribbled it down somewhere because it hit me like a bag of wet sand. I foresee several hours spent trying to dig it up. Thanks for sharing this beautifully written and insightful post.

  9. how true.......i get it.....LOVE THIS

  10. Brilliant!! Loved this.



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Faith in Ambiguity by Tara Adams is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License