A very small opening certainly exists in every single day — and it could be as momentary as the time spent in neutral when shifting from second to third — but in these gaps we have a chance to see beyond the here and now. What I speak of are those instants when all the mayhem in the news is counterbalanced by a simple sense of wonder in the world around us. In these interstices, in these fleeting moments of grace, we may even be afforded some hint of our personal potential (and isn’t it startling to realize there is some?).
Thing is, these gifts are remarkably easy to miss; like the flashing dots that leave me thumb-challenged in a visual field test. First they’re there and then they’re not, or maybe they never were. The thumb trembles expectantly over the clicker; perfection is not nearly possible. But in order to survive a visual field test, or life itself, a person has got to see something. Sometime. Without that occasional glimpse, we’re destined for macro-degeneration of the spirit, cataracts of the soul.