I told a colleague the other day
that inverting interpretation is something I’ve always found a kind of joy in.
I went on to say that I think this is because what’s often real and true
needs to be broken and taped and without a frame first
in order to get a fuller picture of the relationship between
what is seen and what one wants to see.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror this morning
and noticed my glasses were fogging up
as if a child had put his mouth against the backseat car window
and exhaled a frosty layer of breath across it
before pulling his finger down through it and writing a greeting backwards
for the car in the passing lane to understand.
Take my student. Yesterday she walked up to me
and told me my glasses were on backwards and I had to make a joke about
the fact that they were all taped up and missing a nosepiece
when I replied it’s not my glasses that are, but my head that is.
We laughed at how easy it was to make fun of ourselves
and point to a deeper truth at the same time, okay, well maybe just I did,
and she was just laughing at me.
But that’s how upside-down interpreters spend their down time when
their gut tells them that the reality they are living in is only partly known,
and that the only way to right that parallax error is to turn unknowing
into a self-correcting technique that is making a little bit of fun of oneself
for a chance to see things clearly. We all got our things.
And mine is how I like to make sense of consciousness
by sort of swimming through one confusion and unknowing
after another until I’m diving down through an emotion
and stopping at corals reefs of inference and intuition
that feel like they go on for miles and have an impact on everything,
almost like uncertainty itself were a kind of communal brain map of neurons
we were all flowing like, whether we see ourselves that way or not.