Essay on you went blind for a day
Answers
Answer:Darkness… hesitancy… vulnerability… obfuscation. These were the feelings that overwhelmed me as I voluntarily discarded my most valued sense.
In donning the eye patches and dark glasses I was instantly transposed from the realm of the sighted into the dominion of the blind. It was akin, perhaps, to the sudden loss of sight in an accident and in contrast to a slower, ineluctable form of diminishing vision. There was, of course, a major difference – my loss was voluntary and temporary.
Initial movements were made with great trepidation, the body anticipating impending impact. Steps were taken gingerly – reflecting the distrust of what lay beneath the next stride … firm footing or gaping abyss. Dependency on my colleague was total, although sightlessly entrusting the transit of my body to another felt surreal.
Having adopted the encumbrance in my flat, the going was initially onerous with stairs and lifts to be negotiated. Ambiguity in instructions from my colleague soon proved to be painful! Only once we were on the sidewalk did I begin to acquire some semblance of equanimity.
My other senses were shaken from their usual indolent, ancillary role in navigation and began working overtime in response to the demise of their primary partner. Traffic noise and wind direction began to be assimilated as helpful sensory inputs. Having covered barely a few hundred yards however, it was already becoming clear how fraught the path of the unsighted is with impediments…. curbs, potholes, puddles, unobservant pedestrians… The feeling of admiration for the blind, who stoically tackle these streets unaided and cope with all these vagaries, was growing by the minute.
Explanation:
Answer:
Sometimes we are blind. Sometimes even looking at a thing we do not see it. We look at a bog meadow flowering with pitcher plants, dotted with sundews, and we see streets and street lamps and curbside recycling bins. We see truckloads of fill dirt arriving.
Sometimes we awaken and then we see a world before human intention. Before even humans ourselves. Before avarice.
When we awaken, we marvel at creation, the mineral bedrock, the mother lode. We see a place magnetic, operating on evolutionary time, geologic time, botanic time. All of the places where we have labored and will labor again are far away. All of the destruction is beyond the frame.
Then we can gaze with delight and wonderment on the world, with its slender reeds waving in wind, its forests of trees, its leaping orange and blue flames, its night sky, its sensuous, gilded coinage of moon.
Sometimes we get too accustomed to the world of humans.
This became clear to me one morning as I journeyed from my home in South Georgia to a dairy for cream. The highway from Metter to Millen is straight north, through vast fields of cotton and soybeans—industrial landscapes.
But on this morning the world was beautiful. Everything was glowing. In the cotton fields, the round green leaves were starting to transform to yellow, and the sun was less high and garish than it had been all summer. I should be hating these, I was thinking of the cotton fields, sprayed so intensely with glyphosate that not a weed could be found except in the ditches. I should be hating the clearcuts and the awful thickets of new growth. I should be remembering the lost species, lost habitats, lost pollinators.
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