The Immigrant’s Journey

There is a blind spot in every eye,
There is an immigrant walking by.
There is a past unseen by every human passing.
When you are crossing the streets, do you hear different languages? Can you make out conversations? Or are we all just passing by?

In Greek mythology, Orpheus couldn’t look back. Myths always have clear rules and clear consequences. But just like the underworld, the mind is one foggy place. Reality doesn’t obey such clear rules. Reality can be a hell of a place.

Blind spots still gather information around us. The sixth sense is capable of looking back without having to turn around. I see trees, I see cafes, I see roads, I see people. But I’m not looking because I know they are not there.

A reconstruction of the world from miles away follows me every step of the way. That tree isn’t grey, it isn’t tropical, it has nothing to do here. I will turn around and see an English tree, an English scenery and hear the cold wind blowing me off, and I’m at peace, walking back home. I don’t look back anymore.

Photo by filllvlad on Pexels.com

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