The Eleven Day Tale: Day 3

The Third Epiphany: Endless Depth

"Perception takes the right kind of eyes." Perception also takes the right width, and depth of mind. What is going on in front of you, the motion, is nothing more than a dance of placeholders -- we are bookmarks blurring between countless pages.

My face is my cover. My body is my binding (there is a good reason a book's spine is called a spine). However, it is my pages that I am now able to read -- pages so thick with script that they careen heavily through my bloodstream, my neural passages, and in the dreamspace between my thoughts.

Since the exposition and then deconstruction of myself last week, I've come to realize that the me -- the Book of Me -- has been written, perpetually, alongside the building of my mansion; but I am not only a daily account of my life, I am also a diary; a dictionary; a bible. I contain stories, lessons, logic and philosophy. I am a university.

When I open my eyes now -- when I look around the commuters on the train, or peek out at the couples on the beach at midnight, or sit and talk with a single friend at sundown -- I can now see the rippling of your pages. Part of self-reconstruction is the replacement of much of my head's old furniture; including my dusty, worn-out senses. We learn how to sense quite early on in life, eh; in utero. But as we're raised, we are quickly taught what the strict boundaries of sense should be, for sanity's sake, for society's sake, and -- unfortunately -- for the sake of laziness. Generations of humans are being taught less and less about our extensive sensual abilities with each passing day. Homogeny. Television. Fashion. Popular Music. Fast Food. Homogeny. Most people do not realize that they are capable of sensing, of feeling ten times more than they ever try.

Thus, this, my third epiphany: We Are Always Witnessing Something. The moment you open your eyes in the morning, you begin to see. But, after opened, open them wider. See more. Hear a sound. Put salt in your mouth. Feel a breeze. Smell that breeze. You are writing your own pages. You embellish them as you try. And you are being written into the pages of a grand volume, an epic of which you can choose to read every word.

Never think you have seen it all. You have not. The moment you turn your senses from a scene -- turn back. Take it in again. See something else; it is there. Hear that? It was there before. Can you smell the musk? That, too, had already been present. Everything, every mundane encounter, event, or passing moment resonates; and everything footnotes one of your own pages.

The complexity and greatness of the tiniest events can change your life, given enough energy and thought to explore them. Look again. And then...look again.

There is always something more happening. There is always a revelation waiting.

You have the senses. You have the mind.

Open your depth.

permalink