The lines that matter

I bought an old yellowing globe at the thrift store today. For fun, mostly – I’ve always loved maps. I wanted to show it to my kids, compare it to today’s borders and boundaries, remember yesterday’s whimsical place names. Restless nations are always expanding, contracting, jostling for space, being born, dividing, dying.

The map changed very recently, in fact. With all the usual drama and despair, exultation and violence, a country convulsed and bitterly shook off the remnants of another. 

As I turned the world in my hands under the harsh fluorescent lights, I noticed it was textured. I closed my eyes to see it more clearly. Mountains crookedly rose and fell like restless scars from its surface, crisscrossing the sphere in a wonderfully exciting Braille that spoke to my seeking fingers of centuries of upheaval, explosions, growth, erosion, and ultimately, dust.

I smiled a little as I wiped off the dust on my jeans. Imagine this silly human notion of ownership! Of dominion over the earth and everything in it! All of our property, our society, our governments and borders — are just fading and already-outdated lines on a ball. To see the real lines, the ones that really matter – you have to close your eyes and touch them. 

*Note: I wrote this piece during 916Ink’s monthly Write Night. 10/10 would recommend.