I was working on a painting when the rising sun stabbed me in the eyeballs, so I got up to close the blinds. The view out the east window was somewhat bleak-the pale winter sun rising over the swamp, which comes right up to my back lawn, which I seldom mow.
If I had looked out this window an hour earlier, my senses would tell me there was nothing out there, just blackness. But now light was pouring over the land and I could see there was plenty out there; tall trees, palmettos, fallen limbs, pale golden grasses and the astoundingly complex life-web of the swamp itself.
When people say you must have evidence to believe, they mean you must have the word of an authority (who could be wrong) or sensory evidence (which could be wrong.) If I brought a friend over after dark and told them about the amazing swamp, they might say I was nuts; there was nothing out there.
Until the sun rises in our minds, we see nothing; we are blind until we see.
But you will miss it entirely if you insist there is nothing out there; if won’t get up off your arse and look out the window when the sun rises.
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