Looking through transparent glass windows sometimes gives me the illusion that there's nothing between me and the object I'm looking at, and I can just reach out my hand and touch this object, observe it properly, too.
But when the desire to initiate that process comes you're hit with the reality that there's a glass in front of you, and transparent as it may seem, you'll have to first break through this barrier before truly experiencing what lies beyond.
If it is perceived as a protective mechanism of sorts, then such a kind of limitation is warranted, especially if one subscribes to the idea of first think, then act.
When you're inside an enclosure looking out at an open, wide space, one of the first emotions that tends to hit you is longing.
Freedom is probably the second and curiosity is the third, for me.
I personally prefer touching the furthest horizon with my eyes whenever I'm in such a moment, the place where the sky meets the land.
Part of the reason is it reinforces the concept that there's a long journey ahead and reality may well be way bigger than my ordinary mind can comprehend.
Of course, I'm also tempted to wonder on what's behind that furthest point at the horizon. But that, I'll leave that to your imagination.
Welcomed Contradiction
Near yet so far away.
I think this comes from the tension between visual proximity and physical separation. The glass tricks the eye into believing closeness, but the hand meets resistance. It’s a paradox of perception. Everything seems within reach but still remains untouchable.
Simple plus hard.
There's something bittersweet about this contradiction. The window itself is simple, just silica transformed into transparency. But it's simultaneously hard through its resistant to pressure, creating boundaries where visually there seem to be none.
I often observe this duality in some of the most meaningful aspects of life.
Loving someone is simple in concept yet hard in practice.
Clarity of purpose is simple to articulate yet hard to maintain.
Truth is simple to recognize yet quite hard to accept.
When The Glass Is Broken
What pushes us from observers to participants thereby giving us the ability to break the glass window? Sometimes it's desperation or courage or just the weight of time passing, making sticking to the status quo more painful than the risk of change.
I don't think it's smooth sailing either when one breaks the glass window.
For instance, I think stepping out into the arena comes with its own set of challenges and surprises.
The temperature changes against your skin. Sounds lose their muffled quality. Smells intensify. The controlled environment of observation is now replaced by the unpredictable nature of participation.
And needless to say, being no longer protected by transparent barriers means you become both more vulnerable and more alive at the same time.
One thing that's nearly certain with smashing the glass, especially in terms of consequences, is that shards will fly, whether you're ready or not.
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