A realization of my Sunday afternoon laziness prompted me to explore today’s markets. With yesterday’s promise of a walk with Waleed still not enough to ply him from his slumber at 1:30pm, I left on my own towards Bricklane’s Up-Street and nearby Spitalfields’ markets without much intention to buy. The former is rich in bargain items and the latter in more expensive handmade goods, but both, however, provide sumptuous people watching. Spitalfields also boasts a wonderfully rich variety of ethnic foods and organic stores which along with February’s fresh air offered excuses enough to stretch my legs.
The ubiquitous Tesco happens to be on the way and many a shopper can be seen on the backstreets heading home from the grocery store. Another student from halls was among the shoppers but with only one bag, she did not have as large a shop as some of the other pedestrians. Being a sub-warden, she sometimes fills in at Claredale’s office and if I remember correctly, her name is Rupa.
As we passed each other, I registered only a minor disappointment that she chose not to make eye contact, the lack of which when combined with both her head phones and the briskness of a gait made necessary in February all amounted to not very much! It was in hindsight that I realised that all this afternoon’s walk needed was the replacement of a company left vacant by Waleed’s late night. As a possible acquaintance had come and gone, the opportunity to issue the invitation had as well.
It’s important to note however, that I do not intend this to be merely an observation of another missed opportunity because after reflecting upon it, it seems to be much more. Let me clarify: in hindsight I remember hearing myself silently suggest the invitation. I remember hearing the call to seize the opportunity that was placed before me.
But I ignored it.
I saw the forerunner scout an opportunity but I did not infer the following cavalry of action. The fuse was accurate and minutely articulated but its significance lay dormant and its meaning remained undischarged. The tiny voice that simultaneously whispers and yells “Act!” was heard but not recognised. The injunction was the shadow of the iceberg at night glimpsed in the periphery and unconsciously passed off as a cloud.
And it occurred to me, as the clamour and variety of busy Bethnal Green road approached how much all of reality fits within this description.
The world lives in every periphery we have, in every corner our eyes can see. It is described in the utmost detail and articulated with the most obvious and unpretentious vernacular by its mere existence. And yet, its significance lies dormant and its meaning remains undischarged. The consequence of all the specificity of life is spoken in a foreign language I do not understand. When the meaning of everything is hidden, every experience is all ‘scout’ and no ‘cavalry’.
Suddenly, we are all translators in the business of making meaning. For a scout does not ride alone. More often than not we will disagree and our disagreement becomes another letter in the word infinite. The irony is that I do not recall ever explicitly being taught the tools with which to translate such a language.
I read recently that what the philosopher and the child have in common is wonder. It is the inability to suspend our disbelief. I can only guess at this most wondrous scout that such significance remains in the periphery until we decide to heed that tiny voice of intuition that concomitantly whispers and yells “Act!”
Tags: London