Saturday, January 22, 2011

Soap Puddles and Superheroes

Sadly neither my feet nor the attached body with the swishing thoughts floated amid the clouds this week; rather they were pressed to the slushy ground by a force similar to gravity only marginally more irksome: homework. 

I think that I really missed this blogging thing because at the first opportunity for thought-drifting my mind had a ball. Between the time the sponge touched the cold porcelain of the plate in my hands and the last frothy spoon was cleansed and put away I must have run through a full track of post ideas, beatific and heavily wooded.

I thought back to the other day on campus when I saw a man at a food cart. There was a fluttering mass of black fur at his feet, soon identified as two Cocker Spaniels jittering in excitement. I thought that was sweet. 

The next day I walked into class only to see the same curly-haired, soulful-eyed duo, a notch calmer, spread out on the floor at my professor's feet.

Then today I was thinking how cool it is that a bunch of people used to really believe that humans possess a superhero quality, the stuff of comic books. Superhero vision. That rays of maybe translucent matter are issued from human eyes to feel up the universe. That people take in an object's physical likeness tactilely, eyes touching the glowing blinds of their window upon waking the same way fingers would. 

It reminds me of when I was little and my sisters and I watched Charmed and Prue had the ability to move things with her eyes and Phoebe had premonitions that would leave her breathless and if we saw in the way described by some of these ancient philosophers it would be like merging both their powers.

If eyes are the windows to our spiritual core, and everything we behold precipitation that grazes the glass, it would make sense why sometimes a whirlwind of dizzied flurries between your window and that of the neighboring train is so captivating. Why a cheerful patch of sun shared between the blue felt of the subway seat and the shiny metal pole beside it warms the soul a little.

I think I might like it if our eyes could with the help of rays close the space between and really touch what we see, giving us a little shock like a premonition as we feel the nostalgia rushing to our retinas. It would be tangible.

Anyway I thought about all of these things among others and felt my sense crumble to soap bubbles.

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