{"id":20115,"date":"2018-03-23T06:59:25","date_gmt":"2018-03-23T10:59:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=20115"},"modified":"2018-03-29T05:34:40","modified_gmt":"2018-03-29T09:34:40","slug":"looking-where-you-dont-look","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2018\/03\/looking-where-you-dont-look\/","title":{"rendered":"Looking Where You Don’t Look"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Turning Points,” by Aftab Uzzaman; found on Flickr<\/a>, of course, and used here under a Creative Commons license. (Thank you!) The photographer supplies no information about the context of the photo, but other information at that Flickr page makes me believe it may be an aerial view of a scene in Bangladesh<\/del> Alaska.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Galileo thought that comets were an optical illusion. This is fertile ground: since we are certain that they’re not, we can look at what scientists are saying with fresh hope. What if there are really gleaming castellated cities hung upside-down over the desert sand? What limpid lakes and cool date palms have our caravans passed untried? Until, one by one, by the blindest of leaps, we light on the road to these places, we must stumble in darkness and hunger.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Annie Dillard [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Once in a lifetime, perhaps, one escapes the actual confines of the flesh. Once in a lifetime, if one is lucky, one so merges with sunlight and air and running water that whole eons, the eons that mountains and deserts know, might pass in a single afternoon without discomfort. The mind has sunk away into its beginnings among old roots and the obscure tricklings and movings that stir inanimate things. Like the charmed fairy circle into which a man once stepped, and upon emergence learned that a whole century had passed in a single night, one can never quite define this secret; but it has something to do, I am sure, with common water. Its substance reaches everywhere; it touches the past and prepares the future, it moves under the poles and wanders thinly in the heights of air. It can assume forms of exquisite perfection in a snowflake, or strip the living to a single shining bone cast up by the sea.<\/p>\n

Many years ago, in the course of some scientific investigations in a remote western country, I experienced, by chance, precisely the sort of curious absorption by water—the extension of shape by osmosis—at which I have been hinting. You have probably never experienced in yourself the meandering roots of a whole watershed or felt your outstretched fingers touching, by some kind of clairvoyant extension, the brooks of snow-line glaciers at the same time that you were flowing toward the Gulf over the eroded debris of worn-down mountains.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Loren Eiseley [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a> (italicized lines in second section):<\/p>\n

On Gambling<\/strong><\/p>\n

To a frog that’s never left his pond the ocean seems like a gamble. Look what he’s giving up: security, master of his world, recognition! The ocean frog just shakes his head. “I can’t really explain what it’s like where I live, but someday I’ll take you there.”<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

If you want what visible reality<\/em>
\n can give, you’re an employee.<\/em><\/p>\n

If you want the unseen world,<\/em>
\n you’re not living your truth.<\/em><\/p>\n

Both wishes are foolish,<\/em>
\n but you’ll be forgiven for forgetting<\/em>
\n that what you really want is<\/em>
\n love’s confusing joy.<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Gamble everything for love,
\nif you’re a true human being.<\/p>\n

If not,
\nleave this gathering.<\/p>\n

Half-heartedness doesn’t reach
\ninto majesty. You set out
\nto find God, but then you keep
\nstopping for long periods
\nat mean-spirited roadhouses.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

In a boat down a fast-running creek,
\nit feels like trees on the bank
\nare rushing by. What seems<\/p>\n

to be changing around us
\nis rather the speed of our craft
\nleaving this world.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Rumi [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

The Gift of Water<\/strong><\/p>\n

Someone who doesn’t know the Tigris River exists
\nbrings the caliph who lives near the river
\na jar of fresh water. The caliph accepts, thanks him,
\nand gives in return a jar filled with gold coins.<\/p>\n

“Since this man has come through the desert,
\nhe should return by water.” Taken out by another door,
\nthe man steps into a waiting boat
\nand sees the wide freshwater of the Tigris.<\/span>
\nHe bows his head, “What wonderful kindness
\nthat he took my gift.”<\/p>\n

Every object and being in the universe is
\na jar overfilled with wisdom and beauty,
\na drop of the Tigris that cannot be contained
\nby any skin. Every jarful spills and makes the earth
\nmore shining, as though covered in satin.
\nIf the man had seen even a tributary
\nof the great river, he wouldn’t have brought
\nthe innocence of his gift.<\/p>\n

Those that stay and live by the Tigris
\ngrow so ecstatic that they throw rocks at the jugs,
\nand the jugs become perfect!
\nThey shatter.<\/span>
\nThe pieces dance, and water…
\nDo you see?<\/span>
\nNeither jar, nor water, nor stone,
\nnothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

You knock at the door of reality,
\nshake your thought-wings, loosen
\nyour shoulders,
\nand open.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Rumi [ibid.<\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Bread<\/strong><\/p>\n

for Wendell Berry<\/p>\n

Each face in the street is a slice of bread
\nwandering on
\nsearching<\/p>\n

somewhere in the light the true hunger
\nappears to be passing them by
\nthey clutch<\/p>\n

have they forgotten the pale caves
\nthey dreamed of hiding in
\ntheir own caves
\nfull of the waiting of their footprints
\nhung with the hollow marks of their groping
\nfull of their sleep and their hiding<\/p>\n

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels
\nthey dreamed of following in out of the light
\nto hear step after step<\/p>\n

the heart of bread
\nto be sustained by its dark breath
\nand emerge<\/p>\n

to find themselves alone
\nbefore a wheat field
\nraising its radiance to the moon<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(W. S. Merwin [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Turning Points,” by Aftab Uzzaman; found on Flickr, of course, and used here under a Creative Commons license. (Thank you!) The photographer supplies no information about the context of the photo, but other information at that Flickr page makes me believe it may be an aerial view of a scene in Bangladesh Alaska.] From […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20129,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Annie Dillard, W.S. Merwin, et al., on important things hiding in plain sight: 'Looking Where You Don't Look'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,5,251,4159],"tags":[295,351,1151,2908,3367,4703],"class_list":{"0":"post-20115","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"category-essays","13":"tag-annie-dillard","14":"tag-ws-merwin","15":"tag-the-unexpected","16":"tag-loren-eiseley","17":"tag-rumi","18":"tag-noticing","19":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/03\/turningpoints_aftabuzzaman_thumb.jpg?fit=600%2C450&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5er","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20115","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20115"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20115\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20130,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20115\/revisions\/20130"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20129"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20115"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20115"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20115"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}