If I Can See You, Can You See Me?
Would you say that a hawk has an eagle eye? This Red-tail watched intently as two more flew in tandem over the North Meadow. Whether in consort or in competition, I cannot say, though it is mating season. It's not much of a picture, but close-ups of birds are hard to get. This one was within thirty feet; more often they soar above, ascending out of range of my eyesight, but not theirs. Raptors are known for their powers of vision, spotting prey from great heights. The DMTree digital camera is a remarkable instrument, but it can hardly compete with human eyesight, let alone birds of prey. Some scenes just frustrate the Park photographer. There are sights that can only be seen by being there.
Actually, technology stimulates appreciation of one's own eyesight. While the camera takes what seems an interminable moment to zoom in or out, I can look from here to the horizon in an instant, without consciousness of the enormous shifts of focus involved. The hawks can see even more. Certainly I think they see me. I've followed them through the binocular, soaring in lazy circles that finally center on me, seeming to hang directly overhead, as I crane my neck to look straight up, while the bird looks straight down. What else can it be looking at? Luckily, I'm a little too big to eat. Rats, squirrels, pigeons and songbirds have less security. They also watch for hawks, but to them, it's a matter of life and death.
Lately, the hawks seem to be everywhere. Like gatekeepers, one greets me upon entering at 103rd Street in the morning, while another is waiting at 59th Street when I exit towards evening. They dominate whatever landscape they descend upon. Squirrels bark at them, while songbirds huddle in bushes, or sound alarms from a distance. Crows harry them, but to little avail; the hawks act with impunity. Life is good at the top of the food chain. Many of these Buteos are offspring of the pair that continue to nest atop a cornice on Fifth Avenue, across from the Conservatory Water. Local birders know them as Blue and Pale Male, and dully note their activities in the Bird Log at the Boathouse. They've fledged numerous hatchlings, some of which remain in the Park, enjoying the easy lifestyle.
In Winter, the hawks can see more than ever. Without foliage and underbrush, their prey is exposed to view. You could say that a lack of privacy creates a security risk for the potential victims. Privacy and security are big issues both online and off the beaten path, causing much consternation. These are thorny areas indeed. A thorn bush is a good place to hide, but hard to see through. My natural assumption would be that privacy does in fact reinforce security, but I've also noted the opposite effect in the Park, and on a more personal level.
Like the hawks, I can see further into the barren landscapes of Winter. There's an effect of looking right through the layers of leafage that partition Summer's views; an x-ray of the Goddess, so to speak. An advantage of this situation is that you can see if anyone else is approaching. I'm not paranoid (not much, anyway), and I generally feel safe in the Park, but security is still an issue, as there are definitely some questionable types about. It's a good idea to steer clear of anyone who stimulates your flight-or-fight response. That's much easier in the denuded season; at other times, people seem to pop up out of nowhere, but now I generally see them coming at a distance, which gives me the information necessary to manage my security.
My privacy, however, is reduced under these circumstances. I am also exposed, and cannot easily maintain the personal space necessary for intensive observation. The true engagement experience is essentially private. I enjoy company from time to time, but I always find more points of interest when I am alone. I can get so involved in watching a particularity, that I lose track of the larger scene. Next thing you know, I'm startled by some innocent passer-by. Binocular viewing exaggerates the phenomenon. Consciousness enters a dimension that exists only through a lens: a truly private experience. I forget about my body, let alone its surroundings, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The more privacy I have, the less security.
Privacy and security are two things that everyone wants. There appears to be a relationship between them, but not a stable one. In trying to develop a dialectic, I find that they do not form a true binary pair, where each quality is expressed as the absence of the other. They may, however, offer a kind of mediation between two such pairs, as each term is part of a binary. Private/public and secure/vulnerable form the pairings. Such polarities require opposed terms in order to define something that is not easily described. They do not represent differences, so much as they reveal something that will not accept a single name. They are "two sides of one coin", and so, in a sense, the same thing.
A thing that will not surrender to a single name is a Mystery. I do not use the word lightly. Indeed, I regard even the most quotidian mysteries as portals into the spiritual domain; they are always well worth contemplating. Confronting Mystery disarms reason. One is left with a different species of understanding. That’s what Gnosticism is.
My Gnosticism holds that all the mysteries are facets of a single Mystery, which goes by the troublesome name of God. It is both our Source, and our Destination. In between, we experience the fragmentation of the Fall; a space defined by indeterminable points, each retreating from every other. The Wonder amid this separation is That which moves in the opposite direction; uniting rather than dividing. The uniting of particles into Life is but a preview of the ultimate congregation of All at Once in the Same place.
If nothing else, this teleology provides a perspective on the privacy/security conundrum. To wit: in God, there is no privacy, but there is total security. This is understood in the popular notion of God as an entity who can read your thoughts, or “see into your heart”, and is therefore in a position to render judgment. The history of this idea makes me leery of its anthropomorphism, but my conception is largely congruent. When everything is united, nothing can be hidden; the private will be revealed. Our secret shame will be defused through collective recognition, and no dissemblence will be possible in the light of full disclosure. Therein lies a security unavailable to us here, but not inconceivable. And by conceiving, we draw nearer.
All this is metaphor, but we are also on a technological vector heading in the same direction, and with increasing velocity. All information, linked and simultaneously accessible, is now a possibility more real than any concept of God, though they may prove indistinguishable. I hope a little movement in that direction is accomplished on this page. Until we get there, watch out for aerial attacks, but do not fear the all seeing eye, for as Meister Eckhart said: “the eye through which I look at God, and the eye through which God looks at me are the same eye.”
return to: Mr. Wilson's Arboretum
"... Mr. Wilson's Arboretum - ... out for aerial attacks, but do not fear the all seeing eye, for as Meister Eckhart said: ?the eye through which I look at God, and the eye through which God ... ..."
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