The island of the invisible in the visible

The island of the invisible in the visible – 2021.08.05.
Translated by Mara
I recently closed the recall of an old memory this way: I don’t deprive myself of seeing what I see. Let me also see what I previously thought was invisible.
Speaking of the invisible, we easily slip into misty mysticism (not as if the world doesn’t have a misty, mystical sphere), but I think of more prosaic phenomena when talking about the invisible. The visible world is just the tip of the iceberg, we simply do not perceive the biggest part of the phenomena,
we don’t see, cannot see most of the networks – but we can make quite a few of them visible.
It often comes to my mind that I once pondered on the spring meadow: we listen to the cricket music of the summer night swooningly, but how many crickets does such a band consist of? Yet how densely inhabited is such a meadow? With a small team, we made hundreds of flags, marched out onto the meadow, and there we searched every centimeter for inhabited cricket holes. The entrances were marked with flags, thus making the so far invisible cricket colony visible.
This 23-year-old photo was taken on paper, but the point is clear. We were also shocked at how many crickets live in a meadow 
The task of science and literature is the same in this respect: the invisible should also be mapped, if possible, the whole “iceberg”.
All the best! Hello: Cen ’

Photo: Centauri

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    • ➡ WELL UNDER THE SUN: “He was also bothered that the itching may have been a remnant of his temporal life, and if so and—God forbid!—he was obliged to confess openly his part in the matter, what kind of disapproval he might have to face. For that very reason, he furtively but thoroughly scouted the others during vespers, Sunday mass, at evening prayers, at vigil, even kept his eyes peeled when others scratched, where and how much. When the early frosts came in late November, the leaves fell, insect life discontinued completely, at night the quacking of restless teams of ducks echoed off the ivy-clad castle walls, while by day gently snaking rosaries of cranes flew low above the tower of the basilica, he saw that the rest were also scratching. The server, Prius, Papyrus and Father Bungle just as much as the gatekeeper’s dog or Cholesterin’s cats. Even Abbot Gigas at the elevation of the Host, and more than once at that; in one hand the consecrated white Communion wafer, the body of the Lord, whereas the other, at the moment of metamorphosis, involuntarily scratched under the cover of the cassock. “If everybody scratches at once and at the same time, then there is nothing wrong with anybody. Why worry?” – CLICK ON THE PICTURE!

    • ➡ FLOATING ISLAND: “It crossed Bird’s mind that the storm had carried him further southwards, but for that to be the case he would have had to be carried out of the North West Passage, which seemed impossible, so he was more inclined to put the weather, which was more summery than anything he had experienced before, down to climate change. His scrap of island was now so minute that he could almost sense the shrinkage that was resulting from its thawing Furthermore he was obliged to chip on what little was left if he wanted to drink or cook, because there was no snow left on it. It was beside the point that he did not have all that much to eat, so he was forced back to hunkering down and starving. Along with that, his despair returned, and with it the oddly tender sensation of a death wish.”

      Photo: Centauri