I am rather good at using maps. But I forgot the maps and here we were, late afternoon, last day of holiday, my daughter, my cousin and I, driving along a two-lane highway in Oregon. No other car in sight, and the sun had just gone down. Where was that sweet little village?
It was supposed to be right along this river. We drove on, farther into the unknown river always at left as our guide. We kept passing farms and fields and now a few lights were coming out. In my head, I was doing a lot of self-criticism: Why didn't we start earlier, bring the map and so on? My cousin and I were both impatient and stressed. My daughter, at least, was happy in the back seat, texting a friend. I pulled up on the shoulder of the road to think.
Just the — Wow! Amazing! A new scene appeared. Where did it come from?
Right there, out of nowhere: a magical misty landscape. Fields stretched in silent purple, with rows of tall trees, darkening in the dusk. I turned the car engine off. All was silent in the hot summer air. Beside us, a plum-covered river hardly moved between a border of trees, its dark lazy water reflecting the last light of day.
How breathtaking! Where had it been? If I had seen even a bit of beauty while driving along, I could have stopped and taken a look. I had missed it all.
We miss a lot, almost everything, in fact, in our world. Our task-focused filters (过滤器)takes care of that, selecting only what we need. We need to get to work. Have some lunch. We see what we need to see, often for purposes of survival. Gregory Bateson, speaking of beauty, said the judgment is selection of a fact. In our daily lives, who or what is doing the selecting? Can we make a change? Can we see further?
