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On the Invisible
by Chardo Blue Plains

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Every age has those who deny the invisible: the greedy and the ambitious who, through the chance of time, grit, and luck of the DNA draw, acquire money, power, and lots of objects. Immersed in eye-blink "success", these people see no need for the unseeable and have every reason to deny worlds which would lessen their status. Denizens of industry, commerce, politics, and the superficial arts: masters of expediency all.

Every age has those who give lip-service to the existence of the invisible, thinking thereby to console others and to reinforce their own station in society. Across eons, the hallowed halls of organized religion echo subtly with the cabalistic whispers and rustling gowns of these sometimes well-intentioned triflers with the unseen. Such are the masters of metaphysical expediency.

Lately, combining the best and worst of both these types, we’ve come up with a third group: explorers who with clever instruments peek just over the edge of the seeable, pick about in what they find there on the near side of darkness, and pluck out new and wondrous toys to anchor us more entertained and more firmly in this Visible Here. Masters of scientific expediency.

Immersed, sensually stimulated, so distracted that we forget, we forget, that we all, every last one of us, disappear for several hours every night, only then to re-appear in the morning and continue in our pursuit of the visible as if nothing had happened. Given this massive amnesia, it’s no surprise that we also fail to take note of the frequent edit-points that punctuate our very waking.

Not quite all are quite so oblivious.

Every age also has those few who learn to not see: artists, mystics. Some report on their not-seeing, providing lasting reminders for the sighted blind. Others, perhaps many, acknowledging the dangerous folly of words and images, choose silence and silent service, probably as close to perfection as we can come in this challenging dimension.

We the unseeing call them masters and even what they create masterpieces, hoard and enshrine them and their works, encapsulate them airlessly, revere them incomprehendingly.

And yet, whether we know properly them or not, on go the silent sighted many who shrink from the least shout of recognition but do come and help, come and help.

END


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