If empirically myopics introverts, abstract thinkers, quantum physicists of the mind, living deep within their own… Can they read ours?
Conversely, are hyperopics far-sighted extraverts, literalists, gifted with distance vision so exquisite they can see into and accurately predict the future?
And what about astigmatics?
Do we hold any magical, mystical gifts like those of our visual siblings? Or are we simply victims of a cruel congenital viscosity that convolutes the images of our lives like old windowpanes and carnival funhouse mirrors? Do we consistently misinterpret the world around us, misleading those who would follow, confounding those who would lead, as we stray from the path before us that we cannot see clearly for want of corrective psychic lenses?
Or could it be we see things others do not, perhaps cannot?
Could we be the most gifted of all, experiencing glorious optical diversity because we do in fact perceive the world differently? Are we the highlight of the human sideshow, penultimate entertainers because we interpret the world through the rainbowed prisms of our, though congenitally misshapen, intrinsically more beautiful eyes?
Or is the sad, sad truth that we are none of the above? That we are merely psychic cripples, unable to conform, to follow through, to get along and play well with others in the theater that is life?
But perhaps not all is lost.
Maybe we are, by that same ocular twist of fate, all the more blessed because life is for us exclusively color and light. Do we revel that much more in the thrill of living because we simply cannot see the mundane monochromatic details that bleed beauty from the heart and exsanguinate the passions of the soul?
And could it also be that in the circus of life we are the happiest of clowns, the most innocent of children, because we are and can be more easily forgiven for all our mistakes, our contrivances, our foibles inadvertently forced upon our loved ones and others?
That the sweet truth is that they love us all the more, not because we are difficult, or delicate, or in need of constant correction to prevent the distressing tension headaches we inflict on everyone including ourselves, but simply because we are, like our corneas, just a little bit, tiny bit…
Bent?
