Today, while seated in the bus; my glance half reflected off the sheen of the windows, settled momentarily upon a face. The face, dark and youthful, belonged to one of the many dozens of foreign industrial workers. In that sea of resignation behind the pick-up truck, that dark face shone through as a moiety that did not quite fit in with the rest.
It sometimes hits us this way. Life. Light. It intrudes and destroys the peaceful whole we like to perceive of the world. It creates an impression, evolves an idea in the midst of choking out the present ones.
The face was dark, but not the darkest of faces. It was the only one looking up… Was it? It looked away at times. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or the angle of sight, coupled with a subconscious sentimental thought of humanity and suffering, that played up the subject.
Or was it the singularity of the face, to which the numerous features and evolving expressions contributed, by a matter of proportion to each other. What is this singular notion which ostensibly moves us, and yet has no particular meaning on its own? How do we reduce a subject, with its innumerable facets, to ‘the thing in itself.’
The mind weaves a dessicated web, within which all the numerous stimuli are cosseted, such that, when viewed from a distance, appears whole. Subjects can be infinitely reduced or expanded. Subjectivisation is merely this: a repackaging of thought forms to justify phenomena (empirical or otherwise), or to locate an imprecise emotion.
What is the heart of this knowledge then? To which my mind seeks to continually obfuscate me?
I think it is just this. That moment, when I experienced that chaotic storm of anxiety, fear and hope, through that dark face.
When moment became the subject.
Written by Hubby Ro on his way to work.