Things Invisible

 I have a secret superpower: I can make myself invisible.

I'm not joking, this is serious. It's not like saying, "Want to be invisible? Just tell all your friends you need to borrow money." Being unseen isn't being invisible. This isn't about being unseen, it's about being unseeable.

Here's how it works: All seeing is seeing light. All we ever see, all we can ever see, is light. When you look at, say, a tree, you don't see the tree itself, you see light that has bounced off the surface of the tree. You don't see the tree, you see the light reflected by the tree. That light enters your eyes and touches your retinas, where it's converted into electrochemical impulses (so "science" says). Those impulses travel up the optic nerve to your brain, which then – "somehow" – converts them into what you believe is a tree, but what is really an inner image of a tree. The tree is not "out there," it is "in here" that you experience it. All seeing, all sense-perception, all experience – happens "in here."

All experience is inner experience.

If all seeing is seeing light, then to make something visible become invisible – not just unseen, but unseeable – means removing it from all light. It isn't difficult to do that – in fact, people do it all the time. All you have to do is go into an enclosed space where light cannot enter. You will thus be rendered not only unseen – because you've gone into a dark box no one can see inside – but unseeable, because even if someone were to get inside your box, there's no light, so they couldn't see anything, if there were anything to see.

A closet, for example.

Okay, making myself invisible isn't really a superpower, anyone can do it. And in fact a lot of people do it – they regularly, and some of them constantly, and one way or another, conceal themselves, or some part of themselves – becoming unseen though perhaps not unseeable.

What's to conceal? Why would you or I want to make sure that something about ourselves never, as people say, "sees the light of day"? Because we fear that there will be unpleasant consequences if other people see what we're doing or what we really are in our true "disconcealed" state. People are, we know, widely inclined to pass judgment on others and to inflict punishment on anyone they judge negatively. Those judgments are as often based on ignorance or prejudice as on knowledge and intelligence. To avoid being subjected to them, we are often driven to hide things that we know are harmless or even beneficial, because we know there are other people who insist on seeing them as harmful and wrong and requiring eradication.

Thus is created a twilight world, a shadow world, an underground, where everything lives that society disapproves, everything rejected, neglected or viewed as infected – the "immoral," the misfit, the unruly and untamed – things good thrown in with things bad, the sweet and lovely next to the foul and ugly, the natural saint keeping company with the thief and cutthroat in the foggy cellars of Shadowland.

Here's another secret: The universe is full of light, the darkest-seeming expanses of space are filled with light – light we can't see and will never see unless someone or something enters the darkness and reveals the light hidden there.

What do we see when we look at the sky on a clear night? Points of light scattered across a field of darkness: stars, planets, the Moon. The stars emit their own light, and we see them because some tiny fraction of their light enters our eyes and becomes an image in our mind. But the Moon and planets are different. Remember, all seeing is seeing light, but the Moon emits no light of its own. Its glow reveals to us that the dark-seeming space surrounding our planet is filled – flooded – with sunlight at all times. In daytime, some of that light streams straight at us or strikes the objects around us, bounces off, and enters our eyes, and so forth. But at night the mass of the Earth blocks the Sun's direct light and we find ourselves in the Earth's shadow. So although the Sun never ceases radiating light in all directions, we see only the tiny fraction of that light that enters our eyes. At night, the light streams past us unseen though it fills the space around us – invisible and absolutely dark to us.

But when the Moon rises and passes across the sky, the flood of invisible light washes over it, and some of that light reflects toward us, so that now we can see the light, the light that was pure darkness to us until the Moon revealed it.

Like the secret of invisibility, this secret of dark light is no secret, but just something rarely given any thought. To give thought to what is unknown or ignored is to enter the shadows in search of unseen light, to rise above the dark horizon and become a mirror for the invisible. Fearing and hating the darkness only deepens it. Enter the night with open eyes, look for the light that's always there, and let it shine on you and in you for all the world to see.

Thinking Globally, Freaking Out Locally

I spent the last few years of my journalism career working as a general-assignment reporter for the local newspaper in the small town where I grew up. Those in the know, know that’s basically the bottom rung of the journalism ladder. I had previously scaled the heights and held positions of authority with some medium-sized dailies, highly regarded weeklies, and world-renowned wire services. I took the long fall (and the two-thirds cut in pay) voluntarily, as my late wife and I saw a need to return to our home turf for family-related reasons. Little did I know what a hot mess I was parachuting into.

Most of my job consisted in covering local government, at a time when the local government in my hometown was on the verge of total implosion. The latest independent audit of the city’s finances had found that the city was in a deep hole, with millions of dollars less at its disposal than leaders had thought. Indeed, millions of dollars less than they needed to pay for things they had already bought. In other words, on the verge of bankruptcy.

The causes were obvious: city officials had consistently overestimated the amount of money the city would receive in taxes and fees, and had written the city budget to allow officials to spend the inflated amount. So at the end of the year, there was a gap between revenue and spending – the city had spent more than it earned. And this was happening year after year, so the cumulative deficit had gotten pretty big.

The citizenry were pretty outraged, but for the wrong reasons. Officials had been incompetent and a bit negligent in performing their role as fiscal agents, but there was no evidence of actual corruption. But you couldn’t convince the taxpayers of that, though I tried to explain it in my news stories (for which I  won a Virginia Press Association first-place award, by the way). All they could see was that there were millions of dollars “missing,” and someone must have embezzled them. People wanted heads to roll, they wanted arrests and prison sentences. Torches and pitchforks, baby.

This was the background, then, when I covered a certain meeting of City Council, around ten years ago. The tide of outrage was finally ebbing, as the city had been able to avoid defaulting on its debts, and there was hope that the steps that had been taken would produce long-term stability. But not everyone was willing to let go of the witch-hunt mentality. Some had agendas that they hoped the upheavals would help them advance.

City Council has just gone into a closed “executive session,” so I’m sitting with the other audience members just killing time. A woman I’ve never seen before comes over and sits beside me. She’s elderly but spry, and a bit eccentric-looking: hair in a pigtail, vaguely Native American clothing, smiling at everyone like she’s really enjoying this gathering. I’ve noticed her husband or significant other, who’s now sitting on the other side of the room: dressed like a laborer, long white Duck Dynasty beard. They’re both in their 70s, I guess.

“You’re a reporter?” she asks, as if she’s never met one before and wasn’t quite sure such creatures really existed.

“Yes ma’am, I’m afraid so,” I reply in my usual whimsical, self-deprecating way.

She asks where I think the “missing” money went, and I tell her. She listens attentively and nods frequently, and it all seems to be going well. I wrap up my little presentation and look for her reaction.

“You know about the base they’re building in Chesterfield?” she inquires, naming a nearby county. “I think that’s where the money went, I think they’re taking our money and putting it into that base, stealing it so they won’t have to tell anyone what they’re doing.”

“What base?” I ask, confusedly, my alarm signal not yet sounding.

“You know,” she says, smiling like she knows I’m kidding her. “The UN base.”

Beeeeeeeeep goes my alarm.

She starts elaborating, and I don’t try to stop her, I’m more focused on deciding whether I'll need to yell for help. It's a base for the UN to position its black helicopters and its black-uniformed troop to prepare for the attack on Washington. Because Washington is only a hundred miles from here. Not that the people in Washington are any better, they’re really in cahoots with the globalists. Because that’s what it’s all about, you know – creating a One World socialist dictatorship that will destroy our nation’s sovereignty, take away our guns, and put all right-thinking people in concentration camps.

I finally interrupt. “No offense,” I say, “but I don’t believe any of that.”

She stares at me for a moment with her eyes widening a little. Then a knowing look comes over her.

“Are you Jewish?” she asks.

I’m not going to say what my answer was – oh all right, no, I’m not Jewish, but that’s really beside the point – I just want you to contemplate the question and the context for a moment. If you don’t get it, visit the ADL website and search for “protocols.” This is what was turned loose, empowered, by the “Tea Party,” and in the past decade it has done nothing but grow in power.

Rita and Elmo: An Allegorical Folk Tale – From Presence

 

(Mira:)

I finish reading the paper and I notice you writing. “What are you working on, sweetie?” I ask.

“An idea for a novel,” you tell me. “Nothing good, just a sort of political thriller, something to try to make money.”

“Nothing wrong with that, darling. People do worse things than that for money.”

“I know.”

“Sometime if you want to, maybe you could make up a bedtime story to tell me. No one ever did that for me when I was little. I used to read things for myself until they made me put out the light: fairy tales from a book my favorite aunt gave me one year for my birthday. Cinderella and Snow White, Beauty and the Beast and Red Riding Hood, all the famous ones. It would have been nicer if someone had read them to me.”

(Jason:)

I close my notebook and put my arm around you. “You wouldn’t happen to be dropping a hint for me, darling, would you?” I ask.

You give me a guilty little smile. “I don’t know, sweetie. Is that something you might like to do for me sometime?”

“I could give it a try, I guess. I don’t know if it would be any good. I’m better at writing than I am at talking, you know. You’re the only one I’d even think of trying it with.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll love it whatever it is.”

“Okay then. Let’s see, how should I start? Oh, right.”

 

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Rita who lived with her evil parents at the edge of a forest called Midnight Woods. Rita’s parents were stooges of the evil Sheriff of Nothingham, who liked to keep children locked up in his dungeon and commit unspeakable acts out of everyone’s sight. One day it was Rita’s turn to go there, and her parents locked her out of their house so the Sheriff could find her and carry her away. But Rita knew what they were planning, and she ran into the Midnight Woods to escape.

The woods were scary, dark and deep, and Rita wandered alone for a long time without knowing where she was, getting tireder and hungrier with each step she took. After a long time, she just sat down where she was, unable to take another step. Immediately a pack of wild dogs surrounded her and started to fight among themselves over which one would get to take the first bite from her lovely neck. But thinking quickly, Rita told them, “If you eat me up, I’ll be gone and I won’t be able to do anything else for you. But if you let me live and bring me food now and then, I’ll scratch your necks and your ears and rub your bellies whenever you want. And I’ll sing you sad songs so you can howl along.” The wild dogs thought about this a little while and decided it would make sense to do what she suggested.

And so it was that Rita was able to survive in the depths of Midnight Woods. And besides the food they brought her, the wild dogs gave her knowledge of the forest and showed her the hidden pathways that crisscrossed all over the place.

Thus it happened one day as she was walking along, she came to a place where two paths crossed. And sitting at the crossroads was a boy her own age, surrounded by wild dogs and wolves who were fighting over who would get to eat him.

But Rita commanded the animals to leave him alone. “Let’s hear what he has to say for himself before you rip out his neck,” she told them. “If he has nothing good to offer, then bon appétit.”

Then she asked the boy, “What is your name, handsome stranger, and why are you here in this desolate place?”

The boy replied, “Thank you, oh kind and beautiful lady, for saving my life, I’m forever in your debt. My name is Elmo of Dismalia and I’m an exile from that dreary slough of despond. How I came to be exiled and why I’m here is a tale that will take some time to tell, but I think you’ll find it’s worth your time to hear it.”

“Very well,” said Rita. “We’ll hear your story, but keep in mind, if you value your neck, don’t try to feed us any bullshit.” Then she and the animals sat down and waited for Elmo to start.

“I come from a land on the far side of Midnight Woods, a place so drab and dull that even the pigeons fly over without stopping. And the reason for this dullness is simple: the people there have forgotten how to dream. They spend all day making drab things for themselves, the same things day in and day out, never dreaming they might try to make something different. And they spend all night snoring, the same snores each night as the last one.

“The children are taught from an early age to keep doing the same pointless things as their parents, and never to ask any questions. But from the time I was born, an invisible angel went with me wherever I went and joined me in everything I did. And wherever I was, whatever I did, whatever I heard, this angel would always whisper one word secretly in my ear. And the word was: ‘Why?’

“When I was too young to know better, I would repeat this word out loud to my parents and teachers and friends, whenever they told me what I should be doing, whenever they told me to stop doing something else. ‘Why?’ I would say, and they’d all get angry and yell at me. ‘Because it’s what we always do!’ ‘Because it’s what we know how to do!’ ‘Because I say so! Now just shut up and do it!’

“But even worse, at night when everyone else was snoring at full blast, this angel would whisper more things in my ear: stories of places I’d never seen, of people I’d never met. And I’d see them before me as real as life, and I’d go everywhere and do everything just as the angel’s story said. And somehow I knew this was what people call dreaming.

“I didn’t dare tell anyone about my dreams – I knew if I did they’d cut off my head. But knowing about it was driving me mad, watching the others go through their repetitious routines was driving me mad – everything around me was driving me mad.

“Then one night I had a particular dream that I knew right away was the answer to all my questions. In this dream I’m walking alone in the woods, not knowing where I am or where I’m going. But I’m on a trail, and the angel’s voice is telling me to keep going this way. And before long I come to a huge clearing, and there in front of me is a gigantic palace, glowing like sunlit gold, its highest towers touching the clouds, and a sound like a massive choir singing mournfully echoing from the walls.

“I find the great gateway unguarded and I walk right in, and the angel leads me to a great hall full of statues of gods and heroes, all smiling as if they’re welcoming me.

“At the end of this majestic space I see two golden thrones speckled with jewels sitting on a raised platform. But the thrones are empty, and somehow I know this is bad: it means there’s some kind of curse on this kingdom lost in the forest. And I ask, ‘Why are the king and queen not here?’

“My angel answers, ‘The young prince and princess have never been crowned, they were carried away in the night by dark jealous powers who surrounded this palace with the Midnight Woods so the rightful rulers could never find their way here. And outside all is chaos now and endless night, and so it will stay until someone with a pure heart finds the princess and prince and helps guide them home.’

“Then in a flash I’m transported away from the palace and out into the darkest and most trackless waste in all of the Midnight Woods – deserted by my inquisitive angel and as lost as anyone can be. Since then I’ve been searching for a way out, and it was only today, just a short time ago, that I finally found a path – this path that led me to this crossroads where you and I just met a moment ago.”

Rita and the animals considered this strange story for a while. At last she told Elmo, “Your story is very strange and hard to believe, but considering that we’re sitting in Midnight Woods and surrounded by talking animals, I’m not going to dismiss it out of hand. What I’d really like to know right now is what you think our meeting here might mean.”

At that Elmo smiled. “I believe with all my heart, lovely Rita, that you are the princess whose coming the kingdom awaits with such longing. Yes, I have guessed your name, for my angel has returned and stands ready to guide us to the lost palace where you can now take your rightful place.”

All of a sudden Rita and Elmo were swept up and carried away as if by magic, and in an instant they found themselves in the grand throne room. Then Elmo offered his elbow to Rita and conducted her to her queenly throne. She took her seat and at once was adorned with a fine dress of gold and silver threads and a golden crown studded with emeralds of the deepest green.

“But where is my prince to take his seat beside me and be the long-sought king of this land?” asked Rita, looking forlorn.

At that moment a bright light flashed, and in an instant Elmo found himself sitting on the other throne, regally dressed to match Rita and bearing a crown of gold like hers. They reached out and joined their hands.

Then a marvelous power surrounded the palace and swirled like a whirlwind around it, sweeping away the chaos and darkness and shadows. In drab Dismalia everyone suddenly threw away their tools and started dancing just because it was something they’d never done before. And in Nothingham, the Sheriff and his helpers melted into puddles of piss and the dungeon doors sprang open and all the hurt children came out into the light, where they were comforted and loved as never before.

And the young king and queen were wed and together ruled wisely and lovingly over the land from that day on. And they all lived happily ever after.