The Witness Above

I have been thinking about the things we leave behind when we think no one is watching. We move through our days in small, frantic circles, convinced that our private griefs or quiet joys are contained entirely within our own skin. We forget that the world is always looking back at us. There is a weight to being seen, even by something that cannot speak our language. I wonder if we would carry ourselves with more grace if we knew that every solitary moment was being cataloged by the sky. We are so busy building our own little histories that we rarely look up to see who—or what—is holding the memory of our passing. It is a strange comfort, isn’t it? To know that even when we feel most isolated, there is a witness to our existence, a silent observer tracing the lines of our lives from a distance we can never reach. What does the world look like when you finally let go of the need to be the center of it?

Syed Asir Ha-Mim Brinto has captured this feeling in his beautiful image titled The Bird Who Saw It All. It reminds me that we are all just small parts of a much larger, watchful story. Does it make you feel smaller, or perhaps a little less alone?