Bliss

I looked at a guy in a museum.

For a long time. A really long time.

He looked back.

For just as long.

He's an object he says. On loan to the museum.

"With Nothing To Give, I Give Myself" is how this guy, the exhibit, titles himself.

"I am living at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts from November 8 through 17, around the clock. During these days, I am in this corner of the gallery much of the time. I do not talk, use the phone, or use the computer...If you see me, forgive me for not doing much other than maybe looking back at you...I have experienced bliss while practicing this behavior."

This guy, the exhibit, was on display in the Modern Art Gallery.

Naturally, it took a while for the suburban guy to understand.

Sort of.

Yes, eventually it was peaceful looking at that guy. A human. I have never looked at a human so long. And never have been looked back at like that either.

He blinked his eyes.

Me too.

He scrunched his shoulder.

I cleared my throat.

At first, looking at him creeped me out.

Why could I look at Long's Peak or Lake Superior or a late fall Maple endlessly, peacefully? Why does looking at this guy make me nervous?

Humans scare me, I guess.

Soon enough, as this guy looked at me and I looked at him, it started making sense. Pretty soon there was this...bliss.

What if bliss is as simple as you looking at me and me looking at you? And it's all we needed, say, for red states to like blue.

Yes, there was this bliss. I guess.

What didn't make sense though is this.

Why there's just this one guy.

If this is bliss in this museum, then why just here?

And why not more than just him?


--tim


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