For the matter of not missing a moment in time, I carry a photographic mechanism that its sole purpose is to record time and light. Even with having this habit of carrying a camera with me, I still find myself missing a moment in time.
One instance, which was also the most recent, occurred when a friend asked if I would like to go to a trip with her, a trip which I couldn’t ask about, or see where. During those moments before leaving the suite, I had the chance to take my camera. A chance I didn’t take. I asked, and she told me “If you want”. I don’t know what went through my mind at that time, If the camera was too much to carry, or that this trip would be nowhere exciting, I was wrong.
We jumped in the car, and while I laid back with my eyes closed with blindfold on, I fell asleep. I awoke to her shaking me on the shoulder and saying we were here. A dark gravel area off a road. She grabbed my hand and led me forward, through what looked like an abandoned building. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but what did was magnificent.
The Golden Gate bridge lit the area with it’s many lights and vehicles, San Francisco was lit by it’s many housings and buildings; towers in the clouds high above. A lighthouse could be heard afar and a glow streaming through the sky.
This idea came to me, something I learned about in another class. This philosophy of the Sublime. This quality of greatness, this area of aw. I felt so small, and the city so vast. I was just one part of this larger picture of life. Something that I can’t comprehend.
Sure, I won’t be able to go back and recall what I experienced with a camera, but I can’t image that night with my camera, and I don’t want to. What I found that night was special, and with a camera, I feel I would have had something between me and the sublime. That mechanical device that I use to record time and light.