How and why we perceive the world the way we do, and why we stop seeing things the way they are, and how we try to get a grasp of how we remember our past, is something that I’ve thought about since the day that I realized that I wasn’t remembering what I did a year ago, and then a month ago, and then an hour earlier. Memory, the concept of time, perception of reality, and our attention to detail, are all things that we have to both develop and become accustomed to as we grow during childhood. The child’s mind perceives so much, and remembers so much, yet its plasticity lets reality bend just enough for amusement and tolerance of both the harshness and the mundanity of reality. As we grow older, our minds change, from the perception of time, to what we deem as acceptable and real. But when something comes into our lives that questions this reality, how do we react to that alien thing that is so real, yet beyond what we’ve come to accept so far? How do we document this phenomenon? We may hypothesize and deliberate upon the whats and whys, but we just don’t know enough about both ourselves and what exists within the universe that that’s all we can do, like a child feeling their way through the dark.
Never in my life up until middle school did I ever expect to see a bona fied flying saucer, let alone in broad daylight. The experience has since been encapsulated in my mind as a memory that is both fleeting and unforgettable. I recall thinking of just how even within mere moments of seeing the saucer as it flew off into the horizon, soon obscured by trees and buildings, that the imprint and details of that image beginning to fade at its own discretion. But if there’s one thing that I remember distinctly, it’s the circumstances under which I saw it.
Walking across the concrete field of my middle school, with the sun heading behind the school, towards a dark blue sky, tinted with orange hues and a hint of the coming 5 o’clock afternoon twilight, I stared blankly ahead, as no more than four to five students stood within a 20 meter radius of myself, all assuming the end of another day. Suddenly, a girl ahead of me yelled out that there was a UFO in the sky! My ears didn’t believe the thought, so I ignored her, refusing to look, and refusing to be tricked. Then she yelled it out again, so I decided to look up, and there it was, a UFO. A P.E. teacher stood near us, clearing out the school yard of various sports equipment, and stared up along with us, remarking after a brief moment of silence, “Well, will you look at that.”
I looked behind me, as a huge mob of students were waiting for their parents to pick them up at the school’s front driveway, completely oblivious to what we were seeing. I wanted to yell out at them, or at least something in me suggested to do as much, but I didn’t. Was it because they were so far away? I’m not really sure. Was it because I was selfish, and wanted this experience for myself? Maybe one of the students had a camera on them? But no, I did no such thing. None of us did, really; just that one girl.
I don’t really remember the emotions that coursed through me at that very moment. I don’t even remember who the girl was who yelled and pointed out the UFO. All I remember is seeing it, along with my own inaction, as well as the inaction of those around me.
A few years later, someone told me a theory, or a story of some sort (of which I’m not entirely certain regarding its veracity) that has stuck with me since. It’s a story of a Native American chief indigenous to the Central American region, looking out to the horizon, only to see an odd disturbance in the water. In the story, he stares at the disturbance, and concentrates on it, unsure what to make of why the water is being disturbed. After repeated viewings, he finally notices the ship at sea, and once he notices the ship, he points it out to everyone else, and they become capable of seeing the ship as well.
Whether or not the story is true, I think that there’s merit in the concept alone. I think that when we get to a certain age, we begin to solidify our comprehension of what we deem as reality, and some of us begin to block out anything that disturbs what’s already been accepted. There are various elements that affect this kind of group-perception that some believe to have a ripple effect on a subconscious level, but are simply beyond the scope of this essay. Collective intelligence and similar concepts, while tangential, are certainly worth consideration.
In the end, it’s up to us to choose what we see, or to believe, but with so many liars and tricksters in the world that thrive on our naivety, it’s hard to continue to give people the benefit of the doubt, and just look. We deem exploration, imagination, and curiosity as childish characteristics, and it’s not difficult to imagine why. We constantly trick each other, or we’re too earnest to believe, so we come to being at odds with ourselves and choose to shut out the world.
If a boy yells out that there’s a lunar eclipse outside, do we listen? What if he’s telling the truth? Or do we think he’s lying just to mock us? Do we run out to see, or do we stay inside, where things that we know for certain comfort us? Maybe we shouldn’t forget our childishness. Maybe we should give in to the fanciful, just to witness a piece of reality that we never knew to exist before.
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