They arrive after a long flight from tyranny, from oppression from the nightmare of endless fear, from hunger, from faith denied, from the bottomless depths of poverty, scarred memories etched in their souls, hoping for an ending as much as wishing for a new beginning. They have been here, a new generation, raised on the stories, versed in the painful history, still residual anger born of love for those who fled, without the pain of experience, who can forget when it is others who now wish only to arrive to the freedom they have known since childhood
The thing he wants most is to experience life and all it offers. By that he means he wants to see what is there, to smell it, to engage it with all of his senses, for those are what he trusts, they provide him reality, without them his mind could not frame the moment. The thing she wants most is to be in life, an integral part of what is offered, to be indistinguishable from life, so that they eyes cannot see it, the nose cannot smell it, the mind cannot frame anything, for she is that thing and that moment and there is nothing else, except perhaps him staring, sniffing and cataloging his own illusory world.
It isn’t the seeing of something that matters, for what is seen was there to be seen so seeing is just its natural consequence. It is only when you label it, give it a name that it ceases to exist, for you at least, for at that moment what exists is the label and no longer the thing that was labeled, so language always keeps us from experiencing life, renders us observers of the things we no longer co-experience. It is much like looking in the mirror and imagining you see yourself when all you see is the polished surface of the glass, and while you may be many things, we are reasonably certain that reflective glass was never one of them.