The Act of Discovery

The Act of Discovery

It is pleasant to walk in the cool morning of summer. Your feet become wet from the dew and a stillness resides, not from being alone, but in the change you thought had not yet taken place. That simplicity lies deep in the out of touch world; perhaps the reason is that what was once, what could be, or what isn't there, wears the scarlet mantle of peripheral vision. We always believe in uncovering, discovering parts unknown, but the covered up is just as valuable, the leaving unknown. There is no such thing as complete clarity, unaltered clairvoyance, the cards are always thrown down, but at a distance.

Someone once came upon a vicious bear in the woods, but because the man didn't notice it, he knew not whether the bear attacked him, or that he went on walking. Another one, seeing the scene from a distance, could only say the man and the bear vanished into a bush. It would have been easy enough for him to verify what he saw, but what exactly was he trying to uncover? If someone doesn't know what they are seeing is real, how can he confirm or deny anything? It happened or it didn't happen, right? How often do we see something indirectly, but experience the effects. You may see in the news that a man was mauled by a bear, but what have you really discovered? Misfortune is terrible to witness and to live through, but is there a secondary motive involved? Is there absolution in knowing? Is there absolution in ignorance? We are on the verge of calling our lives and everything around us false if we reply.

I know someone who is afraid to say what they are thinking in fear of not being able to reproduce it as elegantly in the moment it is really needed—some would think the contrary. It all really comes down to touching something that is not seen, but not knowing that we are touching it until it is in our hand. That is the real beauty, the realization, the unplanned, and yet the immediate, self-consuming experience.

Douglas Thornton