I am going to f–ing die and there is nothing that can change that.
Look at the waterfall. Look at how the water is thrashed from one side to another. Look at how the rocks shoulder the water. Look at how the sun bakes the water. Look at how the water rises. Look at how it falls. Look at how the water flows. Look at how the water crashes. What sense is there in describing it? Such is life. It is one long torrent down until the inevitable crash at the bottom. There is smooth times and rocky times. One is thrown back and forth mercilessly. No one knows exactly where a droplet will land except that it will eventually hit the bottom. No one can predict where it will go.
Certainty and control is the aim of civilization. America is quite good at it. It has managed to raise life expectancy, its government tries to control its people, everything is punctual. Even on farms, everything is ordered and pesticided. It is the American way. In Uganda, they haven’t mastered civilization to the same extent. The city is sprawled with disorder. The farmers use hoes. The Ugandans confront the uncertainties of life every day. Death is prevalent there. They know how out of control things are.
I realized that this control thing is futile. So irredeemably and certainly futile. I have no control. It is all an illusion.
Ironically, the illusion of control has taken all control away from me. It has captured and beaten me into a mute pet rock. I smile and say nothing. I have been trying to please everyone because of the pain of rejection. When I show myself to someone and they reject me. It makes me feel like there is something wrong with me that can’t be fixed, and I’ll end up alone and unloved. I think I know what people think. I think I know what will make them happy. I get too caught up in trying to say the right thing at the right time that I end up saying nothing and becoming a perfect pebble, flawless but unnoticeable. Now, I realize that it is all an illusion. My chains are imaginary. My suffering was caused by myself. I have no idea what other people truly think. My judgments and presentiments are all wrong.
My glasses have become my number one tool to get control back. I can only see things clearly about a hand’s length away from my face without them. I can make stuff out, but I can’t do anything. I would need to follow someone around. I wouldn’t be able to go to school. These glasses give me back the power of sight. They have given me the power of independence and its illusions. They have helped me in many ways. But, they have also blinded me in many ways, most noticeably with the illusion of control. These lenses are an invisible barrier to the world for me. I see the world through the lens my brain creates when I see. This is important when driving but has become debilitating in communicating. I project thoughts depending on what people think. I project so much, that I say nothing. I want to start taking my glasses off more often now. I want to be more like Tiresias. He was blind, but he could see better than anybody.
This made me think about blind people. What would they have said if they were on the trip? They couldn’t see the visible signs of evil. If they relied on their hearing, they would have heard intriguing accents. If they talked to people they would find out, and perhaps had a deeper understanding of the situation instead of just seeing and moving on. If they used touch, they would feel the homes, farms, and tools of the refugees. They would get a more intimate sight into the situation. Obviously, it would be almost impossible to make a documentary without visuals. Most of the documentary viewers have sight. However, this sight can act as a roadblock. We can show a thatched roof house, and someone will assume they are living in a terrible situation. But, to the refugees, it is home at least for now. Asking about the dents in the walls or showing the contours of the floor would give a better revelation of their situation. With this revelation, I plan to wear my glasses less.
Eyesight is only one of the senses I use to inhibit myself. I will try to stop trusting those senses so much so that I can become an imperfect diamond, flaw-filled and eye-catching . I will try to show appreciation for those around me. Mainly, by giving them the dignity of meeting me. I can only hope they give me some dignity back and show themselves. It is a little scary but so much more freeing.
I’m a water droplet, an imperfect water diamond. I’m in the river being shoved about. I have hit a rock. I join 13 other droplets streaming through the air. Together we become one teeny-tiny Sam-wheel-drive soaring-puddle. The view is nice until we see a pool of water being violently thrashed about. Their teary mist of pain rises and becomes a part of us. We fall back in the falls. Soon after our landing, we become split and go our separate ways. Each one of us has a tiny spec of the other and a tear from the pool, the refugees. Who knows when we will meet again or where we’ll go as we become better and better refactors of hope and love before our inevitable doom in the waterfall of life. But, before I enter the river of eternal life or death, I will enjoy every water diamond that crashes or flows, rises or falls my way.
Thank you God.