Some people might enjoy photographing in the rain. But I’m not one of them.
I enjoy looking at the little splashes the rain makes on the water, but I don’t want any of those little splashes on my lens or camera.
I only got a few shots last Tuesday because of the rain. This is one of the few I like.
It rained ninety percent of the time, and I have a thing about getting rain on my glasses and on my camera equipment. I know it’s easy to dry my glasses, and my camera system is impervious to rain. I know that. So it’s not a physical thing I’m talking about here.
But it’s not a psychological thing either, Kowalski.
Besides, when I do get rained out like I did last Tuesday, it doesn’t bother me in the least, even though I may have driven over three hundred kilometers.
With the sound system in the car turned off, as usual, I simply drift into that magical zone where my little friend is waiting for me, that zone where my conscious mind and my unconscious mind overlap. I’ve talked about that little kid in earlier posts. Right?
In fact, the notes that kid brings me are far, far more important to me than my photos, although I certainly do love it when I hit that sweet spot with my camera and totally nail a shot.
And, of course, I always have my iPod’s voice recorder primed and ready for those notes.
Here’s one of the notes, for example, that the kid brought me on Tuesday, which I’ll definitely be able to use in my novel.
Sometimes I think of Socrates who says he is the wisest man in all of Athens because he is the only man in all of Athens who knows he knows nothing.
And Stephen Hawking says the same thing in A Brief History of Time. Hawking says today’s best science is nothing more than today’s best guess. And any of those guesses might have to change as early as tomorrow morning.
So when people believe they know the answers to some of life’s important questions, I smile. Because I know Socrates is smiling, and I know Stephen Hawking is smiling.
But when people believe they know the answers to a lot of life’s important questions, I become somewhat concerned.
Those people don’t realize there are no answers to life’s big questions. Just bigger questions.
In fact, the wiser and more knowledgeable they think they are, the more the opposite is true.
And some of those people might be the very ones who strap on explosive devices and sneak into malls or train stations somehow thinking that proves they’re right.
That note is a perfect fit for Charlie, one of the main characters in my novel. He’s not too keen on people who believe they are wise and that they have most of the answers. He much prefers people who wonder, people who keep asking, What if? What if? What if?
Charlie’s big on philosophy and science, and philosophers and scientists see a world of difference between believing and knowing.
In addition, both philosophers and scientists believe we know very, very little. Lots of paradigms and hypotheses and theories, but very little knowledge.
So getting rained out on Tuesday segued into at least four plusses.
First, that little kid was able to find me and bring me that note, as well as others, from my unconscious.
Second, I didn’t have to dry my glasses or my camera.
Third, since I didn’t get out of the car and walk around in the grass, I didn’t have to worry about being tick-infested.
And fourth, I did get a couple photo out the window of the car, with the foot of my telephoto lens resting a piece of foam, which I think might be keepers once I learn more about processing them properly.
See the raindrops on the water? That’s the townsite on Upper Waterton Lake.
Or am I simply rationalizing when I say it’s OK to be rained out? Am I simply trying to justify my tendency toward laziness? In his dialogues, Socrates also refers to the Delphic maxim, “Know thyself.” Is it possible I used the excuse of a light rain to ride around in the car all day, comfy and warm, and do nothing?
Too heavy. That’s a way too heavy. I’ll save those questions for another day.
Right now, it’s time for a nap.
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