what do you know

 

Would you know the difference between the sky on fire and an ordinarily beautiful sunset? Would you know what you should or should not eat? Those berries, not these; those green stalks, not these. Would you know that you cannot walk all the way to that horizon? Would you understand that the horizon will continue to move away from you as you approach it? 

Just some random thoughts on a Thursday afternoon. 

When you look around the world do you find yourself amazed at all the things you think you understand only because the people who lived long before you figured it out? People who were patient and observant; people who were tenacious with their curiosity. 

Artists often say we want to make the invisible visible. We want to show the small, overlooked, massive, unbelievable truths that seem hidden. But this realization about how little I know by my own discovery is, in fact, the opposite. I look at a kiwi fruit in the market and think, really? Who thought that could be delicious? Same with the artichoke, the brussel sprout, the pineapple. The visible cues of edible versus poisonous are invisible to me.

Or, rather, overlooked. Obscured by all of the data. The prices listed beneath the fuzzy, brown fruit. The carefully chosen lights and bins that convey their desirability. We glide through a world whose mystery and magic have receded into facts and figures, whose complexity is simplified into an algorithm or an app.

What, I wonder, is true for you in your bones? What is a truth you could pass on to future generations that would be as useful to them as which berries to eat or how to assess the distance from here to there?