Seeing Simply

I'd rather be blind than deaf.

Yes, it'd be a tragic loss to miss out on sunrises and photography and the beauty of people and places and things. But more tragic than the loss of music and laughter and whispers and shouts and communication in general? I'm not sure.

Besides, I've heard that there's this kind of awareness that comes with not seeing. It's a combination of a  loss of body-consciousness (that in my opinion, would be vastly freeing) and an intuition of other's feelings by touch or the amount of tension in the air. When you can't see, you can't see what others physically look like. All superficial judgements disappear. But even better, you can't see what you look like. It doesn't matter if your hair isn't perfect or if you're making some goofy grin that puts your emotions all over your face. At least, it doesn't matter to you.

I think it'd be even easier to really see that way.

That's why I love being in the dark. Where you can't communicate with vague facial expressions or body gestures. You have to give voice to your thoughts in perfect clarity. Or, you don't have to say anything at all. You can speak and listen with the way your heart beats, the way you breathe, the way the thoughts trail through your head in all that empty blackness.

Ironically, as the days continue to be brighter and hotter, I have this small craving for pitch black spaces. The cool, silent, simple emptiness of perfect darkness, where movement can be scarce and words can be even scarcer.