I walked up to the window - eyes closed.
The explosions of irregular shapes settled into an even sheet of orange - a warm and comforting hue. It became more yellow as I continued to stand before that unseen sunny day.
When I turned my back on the window, light blues boiled up from a dark and even metallic blue - until the inside of my eyelids settled into shifting Rorschach mosaics of dark colors, mostly purple and black.
Walking blindly,
-every step is an adventure,
-every sound matters,
-there is no wandering mind.
I wonder how long my brain would take to rewire if I kept my eyes sealed shut.
I suspect a blind person can take a mundane walk, but there is nothing mundane in my walk. There's no mind left to wander after one piece keeps me on balance, another piece takes note of other sensory input, and yet another bit positions my hands for maximum gentleness of collisions.
I have no yearning to be blind, but it does wake up something within one what one never knew lie dormant. And in those moments I experience life anew.
This entry was posted in poem, Poetry and tagged Blindness, poem, poetry, Sensation, Sensory, Sight, Vision by B Gourley. Bookmark the permalink.