When Time Grows Stale

“Time is something men and women have long claimed to hold no dominion over — and they are right. But let me ask: if time holds such dominion, what does that leave us as a people?” Malikai Meeking

I am a blind man, eyes I was born without. But what I can see, I see much of — and what I see is others. I see them wander through the city with the lights shining down on them. Even though I cannot see what they see, I know what they see, and it is the world. And the world, for what it is, is lust, emptiness, void, hollowness, evil, murder, thievery, greed — all of it inevitable, a seed planted long ago. It drives me mad to know what we live through everyday.

Now I must tell you something you may not expect: they are right. The world is all these words I have spoken, and it is right for them to see it. It is right in front of their eyes. It is so obvious that not even the fool can escape from it. The reality of our world is broken, something that no longer matches the flow it once was, and now I wander through the blinding lights hoping to see somebody anyone who is searching through.

But my eyes — my eyes, my eyes — they have been bleached, my eyes turned white and I can no longer see the colour that I once loved. So, in my pain, they have been cut out. And as such, I can no longer see such a thing as those blinding lights, and I feel at peace, but that makes things no easier. So, I rely on what I have: my hearing. And so I hear what is around me, and it comes to me — the noise, the noise — and it doesn’t stop. The cars, honking and crashing into one another like they have somewhere to go, and the yelling it never stops, no it don’t oh it don’t oh it don’t, I hear the familys being ripped apart over such piteous thing, the screaming — and it just won’t stop, and I hear a little girl crying all alone, its to much to bear. So what am I to do as my ears bleed out in pain? I chop them off, and the sound is gone the noise of the city has stopped and the crying of the girl is no more, and I am at peace.

But what is this horrid smell I smell? I smell it, I smell it, I smell it. Though I can no longer hear the trucks destroying homes, as they ram away the remains and hear the families being separated from such hatred of one another, I can smell the dust of what is left behind settling in — debris, destruction, ruin and my bitter tears run down my oh piteous face as I remember the pain I once knew. I want to smell it no more, I want to forget. But what can I do? I am a poor beggar with no eyes to see what to do, and no ears to hear them out, I took those away so I can finally be at peace. I cannot bear the smell any longer. So I break my nose with what I can find around me, from what the people have left behind, for me to use, the rubble and debris that is left behind, discarded as waste.

Time goes on, and I hope to find peace, but hunger hits me. So I beg for their attention, I dance for their entertainment hoping somebody will notice me. I beg for scraps since I cannot do anything myself, and I yell at the world, angry at all the things it’s doing wrong. And as I beg, I feel the vibration of their feet, as they walk past me, and as I beg, I yell as well with hatred for the wrongdoings of men — though I have no idea what I am saying I know what they think of me, they are laughing they are all laughing at my piteous form.

Though they give me food from me entertaining them, and I eat it right away, the food is bitter, but I must chew to live on, and I feel tricked and disgusted for falling for the same trick as before, as they have played me time and time again, as my hatred for them grows. As this poison I have been given sets in, it kills me — but not from the stomach, but of the heart. And I hate the feeling of my heart being torn, it is far worse than anything else taken from me before, so I cut out my tongue, as to not taste the poison being given to me any longer.

This is how I view the fate of many people — something unfortunate but so true from our day and age, and ages before that, by the poison seeped into humankind long ago. And as the loathing and hatred for our evil consumes them, they take more and more from themselves so they no longer have to feel, smell, and hear all the pain around them. They remove these things so that they no longer have to remember our problems — problems we throw onto others as if they can fix it.

But for me, I went down a different path long ago. I say to a young girl I met a few weeks ago, as we sit at my sofa, as for once she listens to my story, instead of the other way around:

I was a blind man long ago, wandering such as the people on the streets, in fact I was no different then them,, but I did not want to cause myself the pain others caused themselves to avoid problems, as I saw many of the other street dwellers slowly inflict upon themselves. And though I was not much stronger, I searched — even with no eyes — for a solution, a way to fix my blindness and see what I had not seen before. And as I searched, I found an old man with a young voice, from what I could see, he was tall but not thin, warm but not without fear, living but not without weariness, and he told me to sit next to him and chat. And he told me that I could talk freely, and that he had a knack for telling what people need, and so I begged him for help, telling him my fear of pain and begged for him to give me what he had, so that I could not share the same fate as others. And he was patient, calm, and listened to me. And with a voice both young, deep, and wise at once, he spoke to me:

“I can give you what you seek, young man. I have two eyes made just for you — each one made to bear only your sockets. One to see good, and one to see evil.”

“If you let me I can give them to you now.”

He first put the evil eye in, and what I saw matched what I heard, smelt, and tasted. Nothing changed, things were only more clear, and I hated it, it made me feel disgusted, and I looked back at him but he became more blurry than he was before. And then he put the good eye in — and nothing changed, the world still looked the same in my two eyes. He then spoke once again:

“Let’s go on a little walk.”

The voice still seemed wise and to know what he was doing, so I listened, since I had never met anybody who really seemed to know why they are doing things, he sure did.

As we walked, we approached a house, and he invited me to sit on an old bench I had forgot existed, where people used to play ball together and where you could watch a game. By now it was late and all the younger children had went home though. We sat together watching in front of us and I noticed past all the large building in the surroundings, there was a small house I had never bothered to look at before. It was small, not much to it — slightly colorful, with hues of blue, though faded, as if time had taken a toll, still a contrast to the bleak black and grey city around it, and I thought to myself that its best to look at something new over such a city as this. And then I saw him — a thief who broke open the door. I was mortified somebody could do such a thing, wreck such a unique home, and it angered me. mee and the old man with a young man’s voice approached that house to see inside.

As I looked myself, as I thought the old man with a young voice would too but, the old man with a young man’s voice stayed behind, I looked inside. And to my surprise, I saw an old lady who looked without a worry on her face and two blue eyes, she had a hunch though not from stress, but it appeared looking down often, she wore blue just as her house faded, but not dull, after all blue was rare now adays, it did make sence the colour would fade. And then I saw what I had never seen before as the lady asked the thief to sit and talk to her. And as he did, he slowly sunk down into the chair confused why the lady showed no fear, but he talked and she listened and rubbed his back, I saw him break down within minutes. And no longer could I see him as a thief, but a lost soul. And I realized he was just a boy with dull eyes, something different to the people with no eyes in our city — so young, and yet his dull eyes were what I could see.

As I looked through the window, closer now with less worry of being seen, confused, I wondered why this was the first time I saw a scene such as this. When he calmed down, the lady took one of her own eyes and gave it to the lost boy. And I was confused once again, in fact I felt apauled, even upset, such a precious thing was not something to give away, she only had two — why would the old lady give away something so precious, such as an eye?

I stared at her for a while as the young boy left, and she looked back at me. I steeled myself for what I was about to do and went to the lady to question her about why she had given away her eye, I walked strait into her house with the now broken door, And she gave a response I had not expected. She told me:

“hello, young man, I saw you watching from the window, tea?” I don’t respond. She sighs. “ I know why you are here… I will tell you the truth, I am running out on years, and these eyes of mine have served me for a long time but my body can no longer keep up with them. And so I am giving them away — to someone who can use them in time. And maybe I wont be able to make an a difference anymore but if I can help one blind person, I am satisfied with that.”

I pretended to understand as I nodded my head, dazed by the vast message she had given me and left her house with a courtly gesture that was meant as a goodbye.

I then walked back to the old man with the voice of a young man and looked troubled, after all how could I prosses something such as this. But he was knowing and could read both the heart and face of mine, neither could I hide from him, Reading my face must have been easy, I am not sure how he read my heart though, and he told me:

“The reason the woman is kind is because she was born that way — with hope for the world and innocence like no other, even as the world closed in and people lost hope, she didn’t give up even as her colour dimmed, tragic isn’t it? Well if you must know more she is quite old, at an age that most people don’t live to nowadays. She knows her life will end soon, and she knows her own nature, her own dreams, only by her own self made truth could she tell that if her last moment comes, she wants to use it right. She didn’t lose hope because she was born with two eyes — unlike many people, including you. Do you understand now?”

He bent down, imposing his clear height, which I saw as intimidating in a way but at the same time more comforting that now he wasn’t looking above me, as if seeing through me, though he was still blurry. I pretended to understand and nodded my head while hiding my confusion behind a fake understanding face, which I had learned he could read faces just a little before this moment, but he saw my heart though and spoke again:

“You are confused, are you not? You don’t understand what eyes really are, do you? These eyes that some are born with — and the eyes I gave you — are dreams. They hold reason, life, and the way you see. Though you always have the choice to see, the eyes just give you perspective.” He holds another eye in his hand, observing his own handiwork. He looks back at me and looks down at my chest, as if looking into me

He remarked, “Though I must tell you — though you think this eye is evil,” he pointed at one eye that I was first given, “eyes that I give, or any other eyes, are not truly evil as you might think. After all, they are dreams, and no dream will lead you to a place of death. And the opposite of a dream is void, void is emptiness.” He looks at me. “the people know it all to well, their self destructive nature as well as their own hollow sockets where dreams are missing — and that is evil the lack of a dream”. He looks back once again looking down at my chest. “I should be clear to you what the eyes are. The eye that I told you shows you good is a green eye. It shows you the true character of people — past evil and what they are. It shows you soul, who people really are, what they are missing what they need, it gives you compassion. While the other eye — the orange one — is one of justice, punishment, and wrath. It shows you the truth of the world, though its not hard to see even without it, but now with both eyes I have given you, you can disern”

I looked at him, slightly dazed with this information, and a thought floated through my mind: Why me? He was quick to answer my heart, even without my mouth moving:

“This gift I have given you is because I saw you seeking out purpose, though for your own selfish intent, I saw a hope that few people have nowadays. And out of my love for people, I gave you these two eyes because I know that without them you would continue to wander without aim, and I could not bear to see anyone looking for purpose to not find it. And secondly, I gave them to you because I knew you could bear it. After all, only a strong soul will actively seek out a solution, and that you did, you suck out how to fight against the self inflicted pain you see others bring on themselves. And so I chose you to bear eyes only you could take.”

I finally understood, and he saw it in my heart.

“Now”, for once he looked up at me, “we won’t see each other for a long time, but I must tell you that you choose your own path from here on out, I will not be there to guide you. You will make the choices on your own. And it is my honest hope that you follow what your eyes now lead you to, for they are your guide to what you have always desired.”

After the old man with the young man’s voice said that, he let me go, his firm grip finally releasing — something I hadn’t realized until now, that he had been doing — and he left. And as I walked with my eyes, days turned to weeks, then to months. I could finally see people. I was given the right to judge, but I could also see who they truly were. And I knew they were blind, broken, and far past the point I had once seen in myself. So the wrath I saw was mellowed for each person, and I moved on, it was not always easy since I as well saw the evil they were committing as well but with both eyes, was the only was that was a proper way of seeing.

Again and again this happened. And over time, the pain grew deeper as I saw people for who they were, and it slowly began to break me. It became harder to bear. I thought: what if I closed one eye — the green one — so I no longer had to temper punishment with mercy? It would finally allow me to rest easy and give people the pain they inflicted onto others, But I remembered that with one eye closed, I would inflict pain on those who needed compassion, not wrath even past evil deeds, and I remembered that these eyes were not always mine but of the old mans, who had given me them to use them with wisdom. There must be balance, or else there is destruction, as he would say, I chuckle to myself. So I steeled my will and kept both eyes open.

The years passed, and I grew old, as any person does, my body grows weaker and the colour I see no longer seems so bleak, and sometimes I look up to see that just maybe today the blinding lights would dim and I could see the stars, though they did not any day. And I remembered that old woman more and more. But I no longer had the right to call her old — I would be around her age now. She always came to my thoughts as I walked home with the city dwellers around me, which I have learned to councle, sometimes all I have to do is smile and I can see something in their soul change, and I see those hollow sockets, become less deep, and I know though little I am still doing something. And as I got home I rested, but then a thief came into my house. I confronted her with my orange eye closed, and with kindness and compassion only my green eye opened as the old lady would have done long ago, and I listened to her — for hours, for days, for weeks. And then I decided to give up the gifts I had been given long ago and pass them on to her. I warned her of the burden they carried, and she accepted them anyway, and I was happy, for the long life I lived, I felt I had lived a life worth living.

Months turned to years, as I watched her take what I was and make it her own. And one day, I saw the old man with the young man’s voice again. He invited me to get up and take a walk with him to a new place. And so I did.

This is the end of the life of a man who just had the strength to seek out something and who was willing to accept it when it came. I am not this man myself, but I have known he existed for quite a while, after all people like this live around us day to day, dreamers, but we live in a time that either fades people away, or shines the hollow, very little will you see a dreamer. But today, I want you to know: many of us are blind like him. But we have the choice to seek out a dream and become more than the hollow city dwellers, that is what I hope you can realize that, despite however hopeless it may seem, you have the chance to find your dream, you just have to seek it out. The choice to fight to look — it is always ours.

You must choose how you see the world. It is always a choice — not just in how you do it, but in your perseverance. It is always your choice how you see, not others’.