When I was little I looked at the sea and I saw eternity. I looked at my hand and I was staring at infinity. The world was a divine dance, and the eyes through which I saw it were also infinite. The sea a dancing shimmering jewel that sung the most incredible song. The world a delicious magic trick to behold, and I, the little girl standing on the shore, knew that life was a gift in which I could marvel at this magic endlessly. An unknown and mysterious benefactor had bestowed this gift unto me. And yet, somehow, the giver, the receiver and the gift were inseparable. They were all one. For there were no divisions. No boundaries. I had all the time in the world to enjoy this weird and wonderful gift. For even though I hadn’t yet quite learned the trapping concept of time, I felt that no matter how much time there was before I died, there was enough – more than enough to enjoy this miracle. The colours, the sounds, the movement, the light, the wind, the warmth… all the infinite whispering song of the universe. What a gift to have so much time to enjoy something that didn’t even require time to make it enough. When I was a child, standing on the shore, I needed nothing more. I was complete. It was all complete. I had seen the miracle, and that was enough.
I looked up at my mami standing by my side. She was frowning. I knew she was wrong. Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she see the turquoise, emeralds and jades singing to us and embracing us with their love? Couldn’t she feel it too? She bent down and put her arm around me. It wasn’t the same love I felt from the cliffs, the sand, the sky and the sea. It was different, but it was my mami’s love – beautiful, warm, safe.
‘Hurry Silvia,’ she said, ‘we have to go.’
My mami’s eyes and mine were open and looking. But she wasn’t stunned by the life that was pulsating, vibrating, before us. She wasn’t mesmerised by the colours. She wasn’t taken aback by the miracle of existence. She was numb to it. This divine magic trick was staring at her, and all she could say was ‘hurry up’. Her eyes only saw the sea. It was just the sea. That’s all she had to know. She had learnt the word for it. She had learnt all the labels for everything in the world, so she no longer had to truly see any of it.
‘We need to go.’
She picked me up and she ran.
*
We see life through a prism. We are animals. Our instinct is to survive. We must eat, drink, sleep, and protect ourselves from prey. We avoid death. We seek pleasure and run from pain. My mami knew she had to run, so she ran. Those guards were angry, very angry – they wouldn’t have hesitated with their guns. It wasn’t the first time Mami had snuck into some forbidden place to take photos during her journalism days. They probably already knew who she was, and if they didn’t, they would soon find out. She was easily recognisable and didn’t bother much with disguises.
Imagine if I had suddenly been able to make those men with their guns see what I could see and feel through my four-year-old eyes. They’d never threaten or kill anyone again. Why would they? They’d be too busy savouring the beauty and wonder of the universe and existence. Too busy enjoying this inexplicable gift. Had it been possible to suddenly shock them with the vision of this wonderful world, we’d never have had to run.
But what could I have said? What words could I have used? What could I have told them to make them see? To see the world for what it is, and not for what we are. To see the world clearly, without concepts. To experience life directly, without prisms. How can anyone possibly change the perception of another?
Luckily, that day on the beach, Mami picked me up and she ran.