Ralph Waldo Emerson said it no more succinctly than this, we cannot see things that stare us in the face until the hour comes that the mind is ripened.
Many people hallucinate and hear voices when no one is there. Society call them mad, out of their minds, demented, or a little loose in there (saying the word ‘loose’ while raising their hands above their heads and gesturing that two irritating Vs and checking if somebody else is listening). They are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. The other kind, the more villainous of sort are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing, write their rants and rambles the entire time while they stare at their own wall of emptiness all day.
Spoliarium by Juan Luna. Photo taken by Randy Solis.
After work, and if I still have time left, I would spend it ensconced in front of my computer trying to decipher, by looking at the blinking cursor, which I hope it may, in all its humbleness, tell me the secret of the universe.
In my many attempts to unravel this secret, this cursor might have already revealed it to me a long time ago, only that I failed to stare at it as intently and did not recognize what should have been completely obvious. I missed it. Or because of my whining while writing, it decided to slip from my sight and decided never to manifest itself to me, ever.
The author before the painting Spoliarium by Juan Luna. Photo taken by Randy Solis.
But I am not the over-determined kind. I am not beholden to anything or anyone, even to the noble quest of knowing the secret of the universe. I guess it is because of this over-determinism why some people go mad. The wall stares at them and they thought it’s God. They stare back, and from that moment on they irretrievably fall in to a spiraling abyss other people call madness where no one will escape unscathed.