Fragment 1
Her: Look!
Me: No. I don’t wanna.
Her: Look! Come on! How are you going to understand if you don’t look?
That’s the point. I don’t want to understand. If I don’t look, if I don’t see, I don’t have to start to understand. I can stay here, away. On the periphery, full of judgement, empty of compassion.
Her: Look. Please. Look.
I look.
Fragment 2
An on-the-fly-translation of a Rumi poem in response to the burning of a manuscript:
“She said, I set this fire for a reason. Don’t question what you don’t understand.”
But if I don’t question what I don’t understand how the fuck am I ever going to know anything, learn anything?
Her: Look. Just… look…
I look.
Fragment 3
I have not idea what I’m looking at. What I’m looking for, I know. Truth, right? What else do we ever look for?
Truth. Some version thereof.
Flora: Mom? What is truth?
I look at her. I try not to lie.
I suspect I do.
Fragment 4
Look, a quote from Thich Nhat Hanh:
“What happens next depends on you.”
Of course. Always.
Her: What are you going to do?
I look.
xoxo
“Jane”
This should have a post-script, I think, don’t you? OK. Let’s do it:
You: Fuck, Jane, were you stoned?
Me: Stone sober, beloved. But pensive and playful at the same time. Also, generous. I wanted you to look. Did you?
Nothing By The Book 
Bearing witness eh? Solidarity in numbers, not necessarily “knowing” but merely coexisting. It’s 4.49am. The dog kicked me out of bed. I spend my early mornings “looking” at other people’s lives. I don’t understand, but I take an enormous amount of pleasure from being that insect on the wall that “Looks”.