“To shut your eyes is to guess nothing of blindness. Beneath your world of skies and faces and buildings exists a rawer and older world, a place where surface planes disintegrate and sounds ribbon in shoals through the air.” – Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See
I feel like I can quote Doerr forever. I’d give up every last one of my pitifully unremarkable talents to have even a tenth of his creative genius. To for just a second see the world as he sees it.
Why is the alley so much scarier when it’s dark? Why do we have trouble falling asleep after seeing something unsettling? Why do we associate light with goodness and darkness with evil?
Because darkness renders our eyes useless. Light is the key that unlocks the windows to the soul. We rely on a twin of aqueous spheres to navigate the treacherous terrains of the world and the labyrinth of life. In those spheres we place absolute confidence. But do our eyes really deserve that? Does the world contain only truths that can be seen? Is all light visible? In a way, we are never more blind than when we use only our eyes to see the world. Eyes make us followers, absorbing and accepting only what’s laid out in front of us, only what’s visible. Eyes tell us to reject the heart, to disregard instinct for truth and imagination for pragmatism. But what if the truth is wrong? What if it’s conscience and courage, the invisible light, that can lead you to the right path? Maybe the eye that gives us insight resides deep within ourselves, inside some bloody, muscular, always-throbbing pear-shaped thing no bigger than a fist.
Unlike those milky spheres, this eye illuminates darkness.
“Open your eyes and see what you can with them before they close forever.”