Ralph Ellison’s classic novel, Invisible Man, starts off brilliantly. I really feel this. It starts:
"I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids — and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination — indeed, everything and anything except me."
I’ll never get over the irony of how visibility contributes to invisibility.
I choose to write about this as a reflection of so many beautiful things that have occurred to me ever since I decided to write. I started this blog in October 2008. As I am invisible to many of you - you've never met me, yet I am a part of your day. There is an irony to this, I'm not quite sure if this will make complete sense.
Ok, I've learned so much about my senses during this journey into self. Writing is very emotional - it pulls at your heart. I spend so much time in a shell, an existence in which everything that I see is so live and vivid... more than I have ever seen things, yet what I see is enclosed in my own prism, a compartment. The images of what I see are projected so vividly that it transforms my thinking - I am moved into a level of awareness that often transfixes me... it's almost paralyzing. Like a photographer with an open lens, I stand still, anticipate the movement of the birds, the water as it flows into the stream, or the leaf that does a slow dance as it gently falls to the ground. Although motionless, there is a melody in my life that enjoys this energy; this energy helps me to understand more of who I am, as Ralph Ellison put it... " a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids", working to be harmonious with the world that I see. It's a part of me that has opened up, just as writing has, and I truly enjoy the journey, as sight is truly my strongest sense. The irony?
Well, I embrace moments that allow me to sit in darkness... in complete solitude, shut off from the world... enjoying the melody of my breathing as my mind navigates through the vibrant images that I have captured from my day. My daily meditation. My moment of invisibility. Is that weird?
But what do you think about spending time alone? Is it an essential thing to do? And how often? Daily? Weekly? And what is your strongest sense?
