The author is an uncomfortable mix of Greek immigrant and West Virginian hillbilly who has found himself quickly approaching middle age, an expanding waste line and a coif of grey hair that his wife has convinced him looks "distinguished."  Buoyed by the most liberal of a Liberal Arts degree, he 's convinced himself that the world moves on, regardless of the participants, the bystanders or the in between.  

Once certain that the world breaks into itsy bitsy pieces the moment he closes his eyes, now, he thinks to himself, that maybe, just maybe things aren't hinged upon the observer.  That maybe, even with his eyes closed, the world continues on, unnoticed, unobserved, unfailing in its righteousness.  

Wouldn't it be something to experience, even for a moment, what is left when one's senses fail, that space between the cells, that uncarved block, the almost, the Almighty... that thing that is left when all pretense falls away, that perfect thing... that certain something we can all agree upon.