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.


12 comments:

  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.

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  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.

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

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  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

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  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!

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

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

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  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.

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

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  10. Brilliant!! Loved this.

    Kathy
    http://gigglingtruckerswife.blogspot.com

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