I've always been able to see a broad spectrum of the literal and the figurative in the world, in people and in things.
I would like to think I have broad range of understandings of the same, and perhaps I do have some insights that are valuable and have a potency that are above par and reflect a rich depth of field.
I also understand that it's important to learn how to live with those things one doesn't know or see for that matter. I do my best with that...sometimes.
There have now been 3 Mexicans who have come up to me and have more or less said in Spanish, broken English and quite fluent English something to the effect of, "You're the kind of person who knows how to see the world."
External confirmation of one's feelings and perceptions is always gratifying and flattering and others have said similar things in the past.
And yet, I've recently become increasingly befuddled about what I'm supposed to do with this gift. Sure, I can take a decent photograph from time to time; I'm fairly articulate and informed when I explain my understanding of things (even when I'm wrong!).
The sea brought another message today: after swimming in Caribe on a beautiful day, I wandered down the beach as I most often do as I like to walk and see what I find. I stopped for a spell to admire the horizon - I can almost see beyond it.
I glanced around as I always do, looking for things: about 10 feet away, I spotted the fish in the picture in the debris the sea had brought for the day.
The thing is, this fish is 3/8ths of an inch long and has no tailfin - not very fish-looking. What I spotted was his eye. When I took the picture, the lense barrel was an inch away from him. That's how small he was. How I am able to see things so small, so far away and to cipher through the detritus in the space between to perceive what I do is something I accept but don't understand.
Naturally I thought he was long dead given his distance from the sea and where the tide was landing on the shore but as I took pictures I saw that he drew a breath every 40 seconds or so. It was quick, nearly imperceptible. I was a bit surprised.
I gently picked him up, carried him to the water and threw him in. He swam away as only a tailless fish can. Oddly.
I've been wondering what the lesson or insight is here. Doing the good, the kind or the right thing isn't it as the willingness and ability to do so are an inherent part of my character (learning to look after my own needs and interests more effectively when doing the right thing or helping others IS a lesson I need to learn but that's another story).
For the moment, my thought is that being able to see involves much more than being able to see.
Understanding that more comprehensively and then mastering and capitalizing on it is perhaps one of the lessons I'm supposed to understand?
Chez Pas.
Use your second chance little dude.
I would like to think I have broad range of understandings of the same, and perhaps I do have some insights that are valuable and have a potency that are above par and reflect a rich depth of field.
I also understand that it's important to learn how to live with those things one doesn't know or see for that matter. I do my best with that...sometimes.
There have now been 3 Mexicans who have come up to me and have more or less said in Spanish, broken English and quite fluent English something to the effect of, "You're the kind of person who knows how to see the world."
External confirmation of one's feelings and perceptions is always gratifying and flattering and others have said similar things in the past.
And yet, I've recently become increasingly befuddled about what I'm supposed to do with this gift. Sure, I can take a decent photograph from time to time; I'm fairly articulate and informed when I explain my understanding of things (even when I'm wrong!).
The sea brought another message today: after swimming in Caribe on a beautiful day, I wandered down the beach as I most often do as I like to walk and see what I find. I stopped for a spell to admire the horizon - I can almost see beyond it.
I glanced around as I always do, looking for things: about 10 feet away, I spotted the fish in the picture in the debris the sea had brought for the day.
The thing is, this fish is 3/8ths of an inch long and has no tailfin - not very fish-looking. What I spotted was his eye. When I took the picture, the lense barrel was an inch away from him. That's how small he was. How I am able to see things so small, so far away and to cipher through the detritus in the space between to perceive what I do is something I accept but don't understand.
Naturally I thought he was long dead given his distance from the sea and where the tide was landing on the shore but as I took pictures I saw that he drew a breath every 40 seconds or so. It was quick, nearly imperceptible. I was a bit surprised.
I gently picked him up, carried him to the water and threw him in. He swam away as only a tailless fish can. Oddly.
I've been wondering what the lesson or insight is here. Doing the good, the kind or the right thing isn't it as the willingness and ability to do so are an inherent part of my character (learning to look after my own needs and interests more effectively when doing the right thing or helping others IS a lesson I need to learn but that's another story).
For the moment, my thought is that being able to see involves much more than being able to see.
Understanding that more comprehensively and then mastering and capitalizing on it is perhaps one of the lessons I'm supposed to understand?
Chez Pas.
Use your second chance little dude.
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