I’ve been overly anxious about many things for about a week. My life has growing concerns. This morning my walk was nearly ruined by heavily-rutted thinking about things about which I could do nothing.
Once I saw the tweezers, all the problems seemed like slivers. Of concern, but so small and barely dangerous and, most of all, better dealt with by finer thinking.
When I was studying quantum physics, I remember hearing that there was a way of seeing the world as a web of incommensurable wavelengths and that all material is composed of the unique co-incidences of these wavelength. Each thing was composed of infinite waves coming together once in one place.
I can’t recall any reason to believe that this was true, or a particularly useful model for the problems at hand (as well as I could understand them). What I remember most was just imagining that it was true and meaningful. It’s still useful for that purpose.
So many otherwise unrelated things influence each little thing in life. Each incident is confluence. To act with intent is to understand that these strands of influence can’t be unraveled or even traced. To appreciate beauty is to embrace this shortcoming.
I’ve annoyed people by repeating the statement ‘You’ve got to destroy in order to create.’ The number is probably higher than the number who have annoyed me with it. It’s not just that it’s a platitude, but one that seems to excuse way too much. Probably most importantly, in most cases of creation those things that are left behind after destruction, and left behind by the grand, justifying creation, carry with them the greatest invitation.
A bridge is destroyed in being replaced. The tangle of remaining rebar waits to be shipped off to be further destroyed, reshaped and reused for other productions utterly unintended and possibly yet unimagined.
I remember doing an experiment in college that demonstrated that light behaved as if it were composed of particles. Then we demonstrated that, no, it’s actually composed of waves without a medium. Of course, it’s not that simply confusing. Nonetheless, it was a great provocative experience.
When I see something that appears as a symbol of something, a face in the pattern on the ceiling, a cloud shaped like a ship, a glove waving hello from the gutter, I consider it to be what it symbolizes and that completely, at least for a moment. As far as I can tell, I find what I am looking for by imagining what I am looking at.
I actually spend relatively little time looking down when I walk, even though most of my photographs are taken of low things. Those things on the ground experience a filtering process. They are dropped or discarded. They get broken and crushed. If they are valuable, they get picked up. What remains is free of purpose and meaning. I can give to each thing a meaning free from personal utility or value.
I need to spend more time looking down into myself.
This morning I walked by and counted six. Looking at the first photo, I can see now that there were more than four. The others were just hidden. Looking at this later photo, I can see that there are probably more. I’ve been needing to remind myself that there are these hidden heart hanging up there.
I know that what I see is real, or rather that I really see. What I determine, assume, or conclude about what I see–that’s where I start to loose confident. When I start making statements about what things mean, I get genuinely lost. My ideas get confounded with prejudices and desires.
When it doesn’t matter much, being lost can be fun.
When I see a spoon, I feel safe in knowing it’s a spoon. When I see me reflection stretched on it, I feel at ease knowing that it is a reflection of me. When I imagine that because I am seeing myself stretched in a spoon I should try to see myself reach beyond my usual boundaries, it is just a fun mess.