I have glass in my eye. What do I mean I have glass in my eye? It’s not a magnifying glass. Well, I suppose it is a magnifying glass of sorts, but not in the way you’d expect. It isn’t a single eyeglass, no they went out of fashion with the top hat and the pipe. It is neither a glass eye- heck, thankfully not. I mean to say I have glass in my eye.
I don’t have glass dust in my eye; no, it is more than a single speck. It is a covering of sorts that changes the way I see. I mean to say I have a glass in my eye. A round, circular drinking glass. At the bottom it is most curved like a semi-circle, complete with a flat small bottom, and then it curves up so that it meets the lips from a wider circumference at the top. The truth is, I don’t know if the glass is in my eye; it might well be on my eye. Or outside my eye, but I don’t think that is the case because no one ever seems to notice. And the way I see it, no one else has glasses on their eyes. Well, sure, some have glasses as in spectacles for reading or improved long or short term vision. But no one I have seen has a glass; a circular drinking glass on the outside of their eye. Of that, I am sure.
And that’s why I’m convinced I have glass in my eye. It’s not on my eye, but it is in front of my pupil; maybe it is tiny and so transparent that one cannot make out its form amongst the black. Yet still this tiny piece of glassware informs the way my world works. This glass changes the way I see. Indeed sometimes I look at things from below. Things look more close together; communal, smaller and almost blurred into one. And sometimes I look at things from above. They seem distant, indeed less common and more spread apart. In the middle, there is haze. People are a little wonky, but at least they are all that way and if they also have glass in my eye (which I’m not sure of which they do), then I might seem wonky too.
Sometimes my glass gets filled up and in that case it is very difficult to see. That’s the problem with looking at everything with tears in your eyes; it’s all wishy washy, fogged and obscured and doesn’t make any sense. Still, sometimes it is nice to blur reality with waves of emotion. In that case, sometimes the world floats. It gently sways on an ocean of tears and what seemed confusing in life, I can now put in a boat. In that boat, I can guide the sternum, change it’s direction and even attempt to anchor it.
Yet it is an overwhelming problem when the tears fill the glass so heavily that my boat of concentration drowns. In that case I am forced to capsize the boat and pull out of my mind’s game while I black out the scene, with the help of my eye lid and my left index finger.
They say my eyes are blue, but personally I cannot make out the colour. I try to look in a mirror to see for myself, but yet there is, as I have mentioned a glass in my eye. This makes it very difficult to see. I cannot see because my reflection is a mutation of the perspective which the glass alters. I cannot, indeed, see straight. The way I see it, sometimes my eyes are green. In this case, I am guided by jealousy as I watch others lives bear fruit in front of me. Sometimes jealousy can be good, if you allow my foggy perspective to judge. This is because I can see where lies my passion in the excitement of other peoples dreams. The green helps me to see hope, hope for my own dreams to take form and flourish and my bizarre vision is inspired by others.
Sometimes I see in rose, ah, and that is when life smells sweet. The air is spring, the sun is bright, but not quite enough to burn. Rose is for blossoming and cherishing and signifying the coming of summer, when the air is hotter, and less thin. I don’t know what I would do, had I brown eyes; maybe I would see warmth and possibility or brightness. They see in middle english, brown meant both dark and bright and shiny. I guess you can’t tell then, you don’t know what you see. Indeed perhaps the colours and obscured by colours obscured by glass.
It is as if I would need some bulldozer to come and flatten the glass that I hold in my eye, someone to come and make it smooth as glass should be, a smooth wide plane that could be used for something useful, like a window.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Well, maybe my soul is blue. Or maybe, it is informed by the glass in my eye that shapes the way I look at things. I wonder if I could see straight. I wonder if I ever will. I believe that one day, I will see in full. So now I look through my tiny wonky glass-filled eyes, and I try to make sense of the world. But better, I pray, to the one who sees things as they really are, and I ask him to help me with my soul.
Sometimes I try not to use my eyes, and instead I create my world with my mouth. I have been told it is good to speak then look, but often I look then speak. My speaking is informed by my looking instead of my looking by my speaking. And the speaking is best guided by the trusting of the one who can see in full.
For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I’ve been fully known.