Disconcerted Galileo

I see the world through a telescope. It's all so distant though my eyes are being tricked into thinking it's close. Nearness is only perception. Light and lenses distributing reality in pragmatic doses. It's all so far away, but I can see all the details.

And it always makes me wonder how I look to it.

I think in rhythms. Words spinning on their platters and then I plunge this needle into their grooves and am able to hear them. Even without an amplifier I can still hear it whispering. Crackling and popping as it runs through the thistle and over the fallen leaves. It's always been a song. Music. If you listen carefully. If you follow the groove as it spirals toward the center.

Through sight. Through sound. It all seems so real. That we're easily convinced.

Vibrations carve their ridges and mimic the sound of. Light flanks the edges and draws those pictures in our heads.

But how can we ever be certain that it's real until we can touch it. And be touched by it.

I like the sound. I trust the telescope. But it's still not enough.