Eyes Bigger

We crane to see, need to solve, grope to find. A multitude of mirrors bouncing back to expand our jittery, blinking lense:  the oracle of others, shining with praise or checked with opinions, the Hubble spacecraft hurling sights over the humanoid fence line, the dentist unmercifully angling his cold, circular plane to publicize my shy molar crevices. We are purveyors within and without. But still we look, rummaging through the inventory.

Makeup companies, furnishing empires on jet black mascara and velveteen shadow, know the power of the eye. The lady dons these wares and captivates the frame, inviting mystery and a plummet into secrets. How short or long the fall, one chances to find. But depth is seeking depth, and can't rest until it is sufficiently lost in its sea. So many jump and are disappointed by the painted shallow.

Our historical icons commemorate our short-sighted need. The Third Eye on the sadhu. Zatoichi, the blind wielder of samurai justice. Ezekiel's wheel covered round with seeing. 5 billion of us each day, casting here, clicking there; like ant trails in my kitchen passing on vital information until I scramble their data with a wipe of my sponge. 

There once was an elephant, so the story goes, and seven blind men searched out its form to arrive at its meaning. No one agreed, but everyone tried. And the elephant remained an elephant no matter what they said. 

My track coach told me, don't look back at the competitor. The momentary mix of focus fouls your arrival. Stay on target, Red Leader. There is a finish line. An elephant. A path to take out the Death Star.

Your eye may not see. But it wants to.