Staring at the edge of the canal I look down into the morning light. Lately I've preferred looking at the sky's reflection than directly at the real thing itself. Sometimes the sky is too much for morning; too bright and too vast. Its reflection is nearer and more intimate—something into which I get lost.
Getting lost is the phobia of contemporary society. We'll do anything to prevent it. We have Google Maps. We have GPS. We have our phones. Soon we'll carry with us every song, every book, every bit of contact info, and every Word document we own, at all times. Then, in our brave new world, whatever we do, wherever we go, we simply cannot get lost. We will always know where we are.
I now know why getting lost is so frightening. It is losing control. It is letting go. It is looking deep into a reflection until the reflection yields—and becomes something else. Lately, I've been looking into morning reflections. And getting lost.