Picture a summer day.
A few clouds hang suspended lightly in the sky, not enough to hinder the strong sun warming the back of the child’s neck as she lies stretched out, perched up on her elbows and kicking her feet in the air, peering close between the blades of grass down through the layers to glimpse dark earth below.
The seeming stillness in her view is betrayed by darting movements made just beyond her particular point of gaze. The darts signal an ant foraging. Or something more sinister perhaps, with pinchers or a stinger.
Or maybe it’s just one blade settling against another as they both grow in the nourishing sunlight.
Only this close up is that world of teeming darting shifting life apparent. At chair height, it’s just an itch against ankles. At standing height it’s a blur of lawn. The grass only looks greener from farther away. Closer up, the bare dark spots of earth show through. Closer up, the different shades and colors spark into focus out of the solid green.
The last scene is what arises, where the tiny being on the microscopic world, who had finally succeeded in communicating (YOP!) to the huge elephant-sized universe — symbolized by Horton — that he EXISTED, that they were REAL… suddenly that tiny being found himself in the reverse role, hearing the voice of an even tinier creature, equally microscopic to him as he was to Horton!
The rush of wind past his ears as his perspective shifted, widened, shrunk, exploded — as the hidden world became the hiding place itself — echoes in my own.
What if there is no bottom, and no boundary up? What if those worlds continue smaller, infinitely, exponentially? Could we — our bodies — also be a hidden world, as we contain a universe? Solar storms, tornadoes, political wars and international posturing and fights… what does it all matter if in fact we are not as big – or as small – as we think?
A world lies hidden, shifting, tilting…
That last image is of a piece of artwork crafted by Yayoi Kusama, a really neat artist from Japan.