Eye Opening
Normal and Astonishing
Monday, August 26, 2024
Out walking the other day, I had a strange perception-bending experience, a micro-moment of intense awareness of everything around me. Suddenly, the trees seemed enormous. Not bigger than they usually are but as if I was seeing them for the first time, astounded at the sight of these towering structures with huge green bushy mounds coming out of them. It reminded me of the time I was three and visiting my grandparents in Tennessee. They’d taken us to a wooded park. As we stepped from the open space into the dense cover of trees, I’m told my eyes got big and I’d whispered in awe, “Grand mommy. Are we in the forest?” as if we’d entered the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel.
The perception-bending moment passed in about 10 paces leaving me wondering what in the heck just happened. What had opened my eyes? I have no idea. But even now looking out my window I get a whisper of that experience seeing all those friendly green giants peeking up over house tops, hovering close as far as the eye can see like mothers who won’t let their children get too far out of sight. I’m awestruck all over again at how magical and weird this world is that we live in. Is this for real? We adapt so easily.
Peter Himmelman, a musician, composer, and Bob Dylan’s son-in-law, poses a serious question about that kind of adaptation in one of his recent Morning Musings. Scroll down below to check it out.
To the astonishingly normal,
E
Note
Rocks & Water is coming early this week as I squeeze one more in before being out on PTO. 😊 The next Rocks & Water will post on September 11.
A Serious Question
Excerpted from Peter Himmelman’s Morning Musings
Let’s pretend that you and your friends Raul and William suddenly have the power of flight.
Now, with sun breaking through the early morning marine layer, the three of you kick off lightly from the ground and begin to wave your arms in a delicate flapping motion. To your utter surprise and delight, you lift off easily, and with almost no effort at all you are flying. Not extremely fast or high — at least not at first. Raul, sensitive soul that he is, breaks out in tears. He can’t believe this is happening. Neither you nor William can control your laughter as you soar up beyond some low hanging clouds. You are engaged in an act that only moments before seemed impossible.
“Hey gentlemen,” you gamely say to Raul and William. “How ‘bout we head out past the beach and do some oceanic sky-touring?” They follow your lead and as you glide out over open water the three of you begin making strange seabird noises at the top of your lungs. A flock of pelicans go by. They look briefly at you, and you stare back at them. You can’t recall having so much fun.
Now, you head east toward the looming skyscrapers. You circle the cityscape, fly past the tallest of the buildings, and head east toward the desert. As you get nearer to the desert you encounter a small sandstorm. It’s hard to breathe and the sun is beating down.
I should have used more sunscreen, you think. You’ve been in the air for almost two hours. Raul turns to you and says, “I’m getting hungry. I think we should get some breakfast.” “Sounds good,” you say. “Let’s head back.”
A serious question for you, for all of us.
How long would it take for flying to feel normal?
My guess:
Exactly as long as it took for your iPhone to feel normal.
Or the lights in your kitchen.
Or the hot running water in your shower.
Or your car.
Or your stove.
Or your refrigerator.
Or your computer.
Or your heart.
Or your eyes.
Or your lungs.
Or your voice.
Or your mind.
Or your ears.
Or your dreams.
Or your spouse.
Or your children.
Or anything we’ve absentmindedly taken for granted.
The truth is…
We are all in flight.
Even now.
Bio Note
Peter Himmelman is a musician, film & television composer and son-in-law to Bob Dylan.