Sight is a powerful thing, but like all of our senses, it has its limits. Just because we can see doesn’t mean that we do. And sometimes what we see turns out to be an illusion. Maybe vision is the better word to use in this case, because what I am referring to is not the fact that I can see the letters flitting across the screen, coinciding with the tapping of my fingers. It isn’t the plant (very healthy) draping its leaves over the top of my screen, and it isn’t the picture of a desert flower that my dad took that sits on my desk. Vision is so much more than just what we can see; it’s our way to see what is and also what isn’t, what could be or might be. And in ‘might be' lives all of our possibility.
What I’ve noticed about the low points of life is that they come with diminished vision. Might bes vanish and we’re stuck with what is and what isn’t without any hope of anything different. Recently, the 'what isn’ts' have gotten to me, seeing all around me what I don’t have. This condition doesn’t make for a rosy outlook on life.
But like a break in a stormy, grey sky, vision does clear. I’m not sure at what moment the blue broke through, but on Wednesday of last week, glimmers of might bes came back and all the isn’ts that had gotten to me became part of the landscape of my life not its whole, like points on a Seurat painting without which the stunning picture could never be seen. When vision clears and possibility returns, life becomes glorious again. Gratitude peaks. And our hearts return from their refuge to live in the open once more.
I believe that we all dwell in the low lands sometimes, and I think it’s a necessary part of our journeys, even if just to make us grateful when we’re free. And for writers specifically, every part of our human experience provides keys to access the locks of all story telling.
I guess the moral of this story, if a moral is required, is that the one way back into possibility is to keep moving even when we can’t see what we’re moving toward. And I guess that I believe that that effort is called faith.
Quote for the Day from Marcel Proust
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes."