Falling Up

blind men

I wonder if when the blind man finally sees, does he miss the dark?

When he sees, is it rational for him to miss the peaceful landscape in which nothing ever happens? Or will he spend an eternity plucking at his own eyes, begging for God to have mercy and turn him, one sense down, once again?

Will the blind man ever learn that the chaotic shifting just beyond the horizon is his escape from crushing loneliness, or will he stay madly infatuated with the thought of being alone?

He stumbles along empty beaches, trapped in his dark mind, staggering towards a sun dipping below the shoreline that his eyes cloud over.

He shields himself from the sights of the world for his longing to be reunited with his dark place once again.

Because, to put it simply, the dark comforts the blind man. He knows the pitch black nothingness like one would know all the words to their favorite song, and the thought of leaving all he knows scares him.

So do any of us blame the blind man?

Do we judge him for missing the dark?

I like to believe that the blind man has good reason to miss the dark, for it was all he knew. But I also like to believe that, one day, the blind man will appreciate his ability to see.