How does one find perfect words to express imperfect thoughts? What I see is not what you see. I see a world of people fraught with distress, with strife, envy, anger, hatred, apathy, grief. From dawn til dusk life is all worry, worry, worry. They are like logs rushing down a torrent, fighting the current, crashing into each other and losing splinters-pieces of themselves-along the way. They don’t know they’re in a river, with an already cut course that, would they only stop contesting the current, will carry them all to the end; one ultimate destination that has always been beckoning since birth. And in that end they will recover all the splinters lost; every poisonous word, every kind smile. None of it was really gone, only borrowed out. There is still a connection between us and our actions. They are fastened to us and the recipients by tiny, sheer threads that, throughout life expand, thickening into webs woven around our worlds; relationships. I say ‘our worlds’ because each individual lives in his own sphere, isolated but simultaneously overlapping with all other spheres. We are the center of our own universe. The only permanent inhabitant is the creator, the nucleus. All people we know are merely visitors. Once they enter the dominion of our mind(for our minds, our thoughts create the sphere), they must adhere to its rules which are all the judgments imposed upon them. Thus we create characters for the actors in all scenes of life. They may be contemptuous, unsavory things on whom we project the worst aspects of ourselves. Contrastingly, we may imagine others to be the magnum opus of human beings; people that “have it all figured out.” How many times have you envied others for what they appear to have? Or admired the qualities that seem to define them? We all experience it too; people telling us who we are; how funny, sad, smart, simple. But here’s the rub: “Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth”(Marcus Aurelius).
Its a funny, fictitious world we inhabit, where we make up unique stories and play the central role. At the same time, though, its stranger than fiction because, despite what Marcus Aurelius observed, its all 100% true...well for the observer. All the opinions we profess, the judgments cast, are true for ourselves but only ourselves. Life IS perspective and thus we can change our life, our story, by shifting perspective. Are you sunburnt or sun-kissed? Does the wind howl or sing? We don’t need to write stories to imagine a different life. Few realize we can visualize, and fish those quixotic desires from the realm of possibility into a manifested existence.
I also see a world of people exuberant with joy, with laughter, innocence, kindness, compassion, love, peace. Harmony seems to be a hymn hummed with each breath they take. Whether it be from a place of pessimism or optimism, my perspective on life seems to change with each fleeting moment. Suddenly the world is this confusing, cesspool of good and bad, love and war and I wonder how my eyes can possibly be clear; what is the truth? ‘Fact’ seems to be something created by rational beings as an attempt to wrap this world into one concrete truth, with a big, fat bow on top. Its pursuit has both pushed us beyond ourselves-sent us to the depths of dark seas and to the summits of lofty mountains-and caused us to deny what we perceive as ‘not fact’. We have rejected incomparably more than ever accepted; a society of nay sayers is what we are. But no view is universally accepted. Your view and mine will never seamlessly mesh; so is what I see true? Or is your truth The Truth? Perhaps it is none and all. I know what I know; The joys that arrest my heart and grip the hearts of others-which I have seen in open eyes that are truly windows to the soul-are so poignant, I know them to be real. Likewise the sorrows that pierce, that sting those same eyes-so recently blistered by the brightness of life-with bitter tears, have reduced myself and others to such blubbering states that their existence cannot be denied.
The world is a large, luscious gem wrought of facets and cuts. Each of our perspectives, individually, reveals only one facet. At times it appears cold, slippery, closed off to our feelings. But if we could see all the facets, we would realize the world is a perfectly imperfect jewel. We would see this privileged planet glisten with every color of the rising sun.
