How much of life is lost in peripheral vision?
You always look. But do you see?
Our gift of sight is, unfortunately, accompanied by a
greater portion of oversight. We only see what our eyes want us to see. How
true it is, then, that someone said it long ago. Yet, here we are, overlooking
so many aspects that could be bringing joy instead of pain.
You pass an old house. With a long dead tree. Children play.
There's a swing, and parallel bars, and a little patch of grass that their dog
likes to lay in. Flowers bloom beside it, and bees buzz around feeding. Yet, the
kids don't run away. The dog does not chase those bees. Everyone is content in
their state of being. They're happy. They see you. They wave.
Every day, twice. Morn and eve.
Yet, there you are. Focus on the road ahead. The endless
ribbon of dull grey, broken only with inconsistent dashes of white. It's all a
blur. The house. The tree. The children. The swing. The grass. The dog. The
flowers. The bees. And, the joy of life. All of it involuntarily, perhaps unwillingly,
ignored. The mind has its priorities. And the heart has its own. Which you
choose to follow is what decides who will govern you. Of course, that's not to
say you can't have a bit of both.
The 'plaster bagworm' is tiny little worm that lives in a
cocoon not half-an-inch long. It peers out from either end. And drags its
residence with it wherever it goes. It feeds on anything from spider-webs to
hair and paper. It likes humidity and darkness. It's in many houses. Invisible
to most eyes. Yet, it's there, living. I don't know for how long. It's related to
the moth family, the search results tell me. If this tiny worm can make someone
think about existence, and intrigue them enough to look for more details, why
can't everyone do that? It's simple enough. But the thought. The wonder. The
urge to learn. Simplicity is extremely complicated to understand if you're
looking for reasons for it to be.
So much of life, love and wonder are lost in peripheral
vision. It needn't be. Just stop to smell the flowers, as they say.
