The Habit of Seeing

Annie Dillard has mastered it.  To see — to see closely and to see expansively — to see the habits of crickets and the wide-wheeling stars, behind them both wisdom, and grace, and fearful purpose.  And there are those who see people — see the quirks and the guiding passions, behind them the yearning for God or power.  And there are those who see God, who see a bigger story, who see angels and demons, light and dark, truth and lies.

I want to see, to see it all.  I want to understand.  Joy comes from understanding, said Solomon. Understanding — the ability to embrace the particular set of dominoes you’re dealt, to nurture that overflow of faith, patience.  Awe.  And gratitude, not only for the future, but for the intricate, beautiful, now.

Even the ability to see swallows, aspen, bear tracks, cumulus clouds, contribute to understanding this human condition, contribute to joy.  To perceive the incredible complexity of life in an acre of Colorado forest is to know how vast, how incomprehensible, is the universe, how staggering the intellect of the one who sustains it.

I love mystery.  I love unanswered questions, paradox, mind-boggling enormity or microscopic detail, and even more, vast love, the purpose behind the mad tragedies of the world.  Funny, the mystery section of the bookstore isn’t usually regarded as the place to head for great literature, but somehow I think the best mystery writers, in the pages of a good whodunit, tap into that greater mystery of the universe:  what is it that motivates the human heart?  And how, set next to evil, can there be light? 

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