Redtree Times

Guiding Light– At West End Gallery

The variety of minds served the economy of nature in many ways. The Creator, who designed the human brain for activity, had insured the restlessness of all minds by enabling no single one to envisage all the qualities of the creation. Since no one by himself could aspire to a serene knowledge of the whole truth, all men had been drawn into an active, exploratory and cooperative attitude.

–Daniel J. Boorstin, The Lost World of Thomas Jefferson (1948)

I like this idea from historian Daniel Boorstin, best known for his trilogy, The Discoverers, The Creators, and The Seekers. He suggests that perhaps we all have a small piece of a larger puzzle. A puzzle that, by design, none of us can see in its entirety. And, also by design, we are given a curious and restless nature that provokes our attempts in seeing beyond our own specific pieces and that part of the puzzle we inhabit.

Can we ever see the puzzle in its entirety?

I suppose it might someday happen if we could learn to cooperate and collaborate honestly and equitably across the whole spectrum of those things that seem to separate us– geography, race, religion, sex, language, entrenched traditions and fears, greed, and so on.

Is that possible?

From the limited view I have from my own puzzle piece, it seems unlikely right. I have doubts. It would take a tremendous effort beyond anything we have ever attempted before to realign thought and belief in a way that could unite and harmonize the whole of this world.

Are we up to such a challenge?

I don’t know. Again, from where my puzzle piece sits it seems unlikely. But if our pieces are really meant to come together to create a sprawling tapestry capturing the beauty and magnificence that is ever-present in this world, then maybe it is possible.

Until then, perhaps the best we can do is to join with the puzzle pieces nearest ourselves. Being all part of the same puzzle, we all possess bits of the beauty and magnificence of it.

I am ending that bit here. Like most of my posts, this is written as it falls out of my head. Sometimes they begin at one point and sometimes veer from where I thought they might go.

This post was originally supposed to be about how each of my paintings represent my puzzle piece. It gives you only the view from where I imagine I sit. It gives you only a small view of my sky and landscape. It can never fully capture the breath and width and depth of the world beyond my limited view of it.

But that limitation should not keep me from trying to express the beauty and magnificence that is present in the narrow scope of my individual puzzle piece. Perhaps by doing so, my puzzle piece more easily interlocks with your piece or with the many others surrounding me.  And these enjoined pieces create a harmony that enhances the beauty and magnificence of each puzzle piece.

The moral of this this story? Sometimes we may feel like a puzzle piece that has fallen under the sofa, discarded and alone. At such times remember that you still possess the beauty and magnificence of the whole puzzle in you. Remember that as dark and scary as it might seem under that sofa, someone is looking for you because without you there is a hole in the puzzle.

And we can’t have that, can we?

I am not going to reread this right now so I can’t vouch for clarity, grammar, or continuity of thought. I have to get to work on my own puzzle piece. That’s what I do and the best that I can do from where I sit in this puzzle.

Here’s a song that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with to do with puzzles but it does call for a coming together. Kind of. It’s the classic Beatles song, Come Together, from singer Morgan James, who came to prominence with Postmodern Jukebox. I like the simplicity and spareness of this kitchen performance. Good stuff.

Now get out of here and go work on your own puzzle piece. You got a rough edge right there that needs to be smoothed off a bit. But don’t fret– you’re still beautiful. And magnificent.