I looked into the fire and felt entirely and utterly alone. The room was full of people. Some reached out to me. But I just kept staring.
A man who didn’t seem to talk much came up to me, tapped me on the shoulder. I recognized him from Phoenix. We had danced a couple of times that night.
He asked me how I was. I didn’t say anything. I shrugged. How could I explain the eternal emptiness I felt?
He asked what dancing with a blindfold on was like (while pointing to my blindfold). I took it off my neck and placed it on him and whispered “Go see.” and moved him onto the dance floor, found him a partner.
I watched him lead without sight. I reflected on people seeing me and me seeing them.
And how sometimes the people who know you the least, see you the best. And sometimes the same people who see you the best, see you the least. And sometimes the people who least know you see you for the first time like no one else has.
In this way, being blindfolded removes the pain and bias of knowing who can and can’t see you. It can feel less invisible and alone because everyone is “no one.” Sometimes, having no sight can make you see things you wouldn’t otherwise and be seen in ways you haven’t. Anonymously. Without words. Without vision. Without judgment. The universe of souls is acting on you – and you are moving and flowing with it.
After a few songs ended, the man came back to me and smiled. He removed the blindfold from around his neck and placed it around mine. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
I put my hands together at my heart and bowed my head.
When I looked up again, my hands still at my heart, he was gone.
I go back to looking into the fire, but now it’s glow and warmth feel comforting.
Because it turns out, I was never alone at all.