Lines. Fine Lines

by Sorin Oprisor

We need lines. We really do. Whether it's for crossing the street or to drive in the right lane. Those are the visible lines. Then there is another category of lines that stems from human relationships. Those qualify as invisible lines, or to avoid the temptation of opposites, less visible lines. The good vs. evil dichotomy might be the first situation crossing your mind but I've grown to learn that the world out there comes in more than just black and white. It comes in shades too. And as soon as you reach that area you come to realize that the afore mentioned opposition kind of falls to pieces. There will be the ones claiming to have that marvelous quality of discerning right from wrong and then there's others like me, that feel at a loss in front of matters of the kind. Call it caution, call it indecision, but I'm not here to be the one crossing a line. 

As soon as one crosses a line, things are sort of forever settled and I'm unsure if a growing patterning confidence is deeply seated in reality. Or maybe in the personal reality of the person we've already "framed". Humans are flawed beings and it is in this state of things that lies the desire to ardently set boundaries, put a seal on a "case", which ultimately situates the "framed" in an extreme. But what the "framee" fails to record is that in-between state of the person from the initial moment of their evaluation to the last one.

We fail to see the humanity laying so nakedly in the other; when it's our own nakedness speaking about wavering, tribulating feelings of infinite maybes whose temporary existence never did we managed to perceive. Any attitude, behavior comes as the result of a lengthy process, an evolution entailing an innumerous number of changes that we are most certainly blind to. So instead of wrenching your soul over apparently disturbing realities that others bring upon us, give that reality the benefit of the doubt for that inaccessible shady area before deciding to swiftly categorize. The unknown shading of that segment holds the truth and keeps it to itself in a disdainfully undisclosing manner. But it's the privacy of the being that it protects and I can't find a fine line to put my finger on.  And I probably shouldn't anyway.