Muse: blind

Pablo Picasso: A Blind Man's Meal

Imagine living in a world that looks like a black canvas - day in day out; every season; everywhere you turn.

Say the world did not look like that at first. You still remember how light made shadows beautiful once upon a time - or how the rainbow used to speak to you after the rain. It has been a while since your heart was warmed by a kind smile or the faces of your loved ones. The doctor said that you would never see again. What kind of books would you read? What kind of job would you do for a living? Would you still have a Facebook account? Waiting has become a perpetual game - the only way the world meets you where you are. In waiting, you pay tender attention to the things that most people hardly notice. Places, for instance, are known by their smells. There is the smell of the barber's, the bookstore, the coffee-shop, the wet market, the clinic, the church. The things you touch, touch you back and identify themselves. The sounds you hear inform you about the spaces you are in. The most mundane routines have become your source of comfort and confidence because they have been rehearsed, over and over, like dances in the dark. But nothing changes this fact: it is tough being blind. 

It can be inconvenient, embarrassing and lonely. 

However, I envy the blind (a little) at very random times such as these: (1) When the world is filled with stuff that I wish I couldn't see; (2) When my sight hinders me from walking by faith; and (3) When I am tempted to plagiarise someone else's work during an uninspired moment and I know that I mustn't. 

Sir David Wilkie: The Blind Fiddler (1806)