Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.

How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me.

-Helen Keller, Three Days to See (1933)
NB: Helen Keller was deaf-blind.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Learning to Fly

Labels:

I reckon a person who can walk and run and cycle and swim would imagine being in a wheelchair, without the ability to do these things, to be worse than it actually is. Moreover, if no one could use their legs, it seems obvious that few people would care to be able to walk 'like an ostrich'. It would be like not being able to fly in our reality; of course, people dream of it, but few are really bothered by the fact that they can't.

Now this dreaming has probably been vital to the survival and success of our species, and it has likely become such and important part of human nature, that it's essential for most anyone to be happy; however, when people become too fixated on these dreams, they seem to lose the ability to appreciate the magic of our current reality.

Let me explain with the example that got me thinking of this.

I recently decided to give me knees a break and start swimming instead of running. The first couple of times, I would try to do a certain number of laps, but after a while, I figured since I was just doing it to stay healthy, it really didn't matter, so I started just doing as much as I felt like and had time for.

Anyone who has done laps before will appreciate the fact that it actually takes a good deal of concentration to keep track of how many you've done. So when I stopped counting, my mind was suddenly free. And that's when I noticed that swimming is exactly like flying, but better. In fact, as I pushed off from the shallow end and the distance to the ground below me slowly began increasing, I was filled with the same thrill as when flying down a hillside in a dream. But I had even more control: I could stop in one spot, slowly go straight up or down, even go backwards! I wasn't an eagle, out of control; I was a masterful hummingbird!

All that to say, why save fantasy for your dreams, when you can live it everyday?

Gepostet von Nicholas Dubé unter Wednesday, February 27, 2008

2 comments:

m. Ansell said...

I also swim laps but at the end of every session I venture into the deep end and practice deep pool diving. This to say that when I am at the bottom of the pool I often pause in near suspension and I feel a little of what you described. The only difference is that when resurfacing I am not as elegant as a hummingbird but more like a crazed duck during open season.

March 2, 2008 at 3:16 p.m.
R said...

Your blog is somehow more interesting than global civil societies and articles analyzing the epistemological something or other on the something of development, so thanks for the continued distraction.

Anyway. This feeling of flying--why I used to bike so often, and it continues to be my preferred mode of transportation (except I don't have ready access to one anymore). And as for dreaming, sometimes living in a happy, albeit delusional, world really IS all it's cracked up to be! :)

March 2, 2008 at 9:11 p.m.

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)