Individually, we are threads. Together, a tapestry.
I was lying on the grass, belly-down, using my hands as a pillow for my head. My head was turned to one side, and my left forearm was in my immediate view. If I closed one eye, the imagery in my view comprised a given range, including a lot of my forearm and a little bit of grass. If I then opened that eye and closed the other, the range of sight shifted, and now I could see a lot more grass, as well as the purple Rozanne geraniums lining the rock wall at the edge of the yard.
I played with this shifting perspective, rapidly alternating which eye was open / closed, watching the images shift just as rapidly. I could see certain things with one eye, certain other things with the other eye.
Isn't that just a perfect illustration of how each human sees certain things, that is, a view that is particular to their personal lens of perception? and, why we will never see things in exactly the same way as one another [as long as we are focused in and as these separate bodies]?
You are one “eye,” and I am another.
And, isn't this little game of perspective, viewing through one eye and then the other, just as telling about the outer conditions / the world / the environment / the backdrop: that such context does not change regardless of how much we see of it? regardless of on which part we are focused? The grass and purple flowers didn't move when I closed the eye that could see them, they were still there despite my other eye not seeing them. If I were to “believe” the perspective of the eye that saw mostly forearm and no flowers, then I would have a hard time believing that the purple flowers existed. Yet, they existed regardless of whether I perceived them.
It can be challenging to believe what we can't see, or that which we haven't experienced.
Knowing that more exists than we can see, isn't it upon us to accept that other humans' experiences are just as real as our own? that, by definition, because others are looking through different eyes than our own, that they will see and experience differently than we do?
I know that as I lay in the grass, before I began closing one eye and then the other, I could see my forearm, the grass, and the purple flowers—I could see it all. I saw the blended perspective of both eyes simultaneously. It was sort of a multi-layered vision, that is, if I focused on seeing out of one eye in particular, that eye’s perspective was “highlighted,” sort of superimposed on the other eye’s vision; both perspectives were present individually yet simultaneously blended into a broader vision than one eye alone.
Again, isn’t this humanity? We’re each living life as “one eye,” and together comprise a more complete vision, a more complete experience of awareness. Each of our perspectives is distinct and, when we combine them, our uniqueness persists while simultaneously comprising a broader picture. Together, we can see greater context.
One perspective does not preclude another, rather, adds to the revelation of that which exists.
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