Friday, April 3, 2015

SLOW BLIND

WHO AM I?
  I am slow blind. I move so fast that I can’t see slow things. I’m too anxious. I always rev fast and run hot. I must go more slowly. There is a whole world that moves slowly. A world I know nothing about. I miss so much.
  I should wait for the Crocus. For the ice to slowly drip by drip become liquid in the spring. I must wait for my feelings, not let my brain speed on.
  Go slowly. Step by step, word by word. Let meaning emerge from my life like a combustion going on in the fire of my belly and the exhaust of which oozes invisibly out of me and causes me to become more two-dimensional than three-dimensional. When you move more slowly, the rapid world around you whirs past. Your attention can’t keep up so you begin to stare.

WHAT DO I WANT?
     Slowness is like the sunset and the darkness emerging. If you stand on the edge of a lake watching for the sunset, you look for the moment at which darkness overtakes the light. Even if you do not get distracted, you will  sometimes miss the moment because your consciousness flips from one to the other. We don’t practice growing dim. We don’t practice growing still. We don’t practice settling down. We don’t practice going into the darkness. We don’t practice for death. Go into the dark. Lay still with someone you love. See what you see.
     How would I adjust to the speed of a horse-drawn plow rather than a tractor? Who works harder? The mechanized never has to rest. The Ever-Ready Daddy keeps on going. The horse can only do so much and then must rest. We must adapt to the horse, the Moon, the Night. Horse days are shorter, the volume of work is less than mechanized. We are less driven. We are slower. When the sun sets, the day’s work is done. We don’t labor at night, we slow down. We read by kerosene lamp or candle. We go into the Dark.

WHY AM I HERE?
     My heart is afraid that if I sit quietly, slow down, work by natural rhythms, I will disappear. If I give up the mechanical pace, I will become human and less intense. I will become slow and unseen. Slowly people will forget that I ever was around. I will become one of those long-forgotten persons in an old photograph with no names written on the back.
     He looks like he is moving as if he were important in those long ago years. He looks out of the photo. He is still, flat and slick. We see him but we can tell that he can’t see us. His eyes look bright. Who was he?

© Copyright 2015, Jean W. Yeager
All Rights Reserved


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