You walk up the stairs and it’s pitch black. It’s ten past one in the morning and you left all the lights off upstairs when you went down to make toast. The world has a different perspective.
Have you ever noticed the different dimension the world takes on when you’re in complete darkness?
You will always put your hands out, like stabilisers, and also as a guard. Even though you know your house like the back of your hand, you worry that something unseen will be there, to trip you up. Even though in reality there is nothing. Though, bizarrely, in the dark you always seem to trip over stuff even though you wouldn’t even have noticed if the lights had been on. There is a strange irony in what more you can see in the dark.
And so hands out, and steps awkward and flailing, you manoeuvre yourself out of the bedroom door. The world seems bigger and smaller, all at once, because you don’t know where anything is. Possibilities are endless. Your eyes are open and yet you can’t see anything which is a humbling experience, and you become a little bit lost in an existence so dependent on sight. It makes you want to go and visit one of those blind cafés where they keep you in pitch black, and have blind waiters lead you to your table so you can experience… blindness (shockingly).
And when you do finally find the light switch with your rather impatient hand, or you step through a door way and see the light coming out of a previously hidden bedroom, your whole perspective changes. It get’s smaller, a little bit more familiar. You realise the way you were looking at the world is no longer needed. It’s a bit disheartening when you’ve spent so long grasping this new perspective.
Maybe there can be an analogy drawn here between changing your perspective from when in bad times to good times. There are existential links in everything and sometimes it better just to look at it as plain ordinary.
Though even then it’s all pretty damn amazing.