Never Seen, Never Will

If you haven’t heard of the Art Assignment by Sarah Urist Green, definitely check them out – through tasks set by artists, you get to explore art history.
In this installment, David Brooks gives us the task to describe something we’ve never seen, and never will. You can find some of the responses here, but it got me thinking:
Where does our imagination go when it’s not clinging to knowledge?

“For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green“
– J. R. R. Tolkien

The sheer understanding that there is more than my eyes will ever behold, even in the age of Internet and planes, is comforting.
It connects me to my ancestors who looked up at the stars in wonder like me, with no knowledge of supernovas or lightyears.
We pride ourselves on knowledge and the accomplishments of science, but there is beauty in uncertainty. It opens doors in my soul and pushes me to speak in poetry in an attempt to capture a glimpse at something unexplainable.

“Do you know, I always thought unicorns were fabulous monsters, too?
I never saw one alive before!”
“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you.”
– Lewis Caroll

I don’t think I will ever see a mind.
I will never see the light leaving my own eyes at the end.
Myself in other people’s thoughts, the inside of a black hole, how my ferrets perceive my face.
I see so many things every day. An idea pops into my head, and I can google a photo of it immediately. But some things are still not meant for my eyes.
Some things demand to be described not in outlines, but rough strokes.
It’s not information that pushes me forward, but wonder, curiosity, knowing that I am helpless against the void of infinity. But I’ll never see that either.