A blind man groped and grasped through darkened air
And caught in tender hands a hairy cord,
Then searched through sightless memories for a pair,
And cried, “The thing’s a rope, upon my word!”
Three comrades also shared that darkened road,
And paused to hear the outcry of the first,
Then turned with eager, seeing hands to code
For themselves the object and its worth.
The story is well known. The other three
Conclude the thing’s a wall, a tree, a snake,
When a pachyderm’s to blame. Respectively,
His tail, side, leg, and trunk feed each mistake.
And so the Eastern clerics make their claim:
The Thing is found despite misgiven names.
______________________________
While people grope and grasp through darkened air,
They know that life is not unending night.
Sun-warmed winds that caress and lift their hair
Declare the world is not dark; they lack sight.
So far the Eastern clerics’ tale’s the same,
And I will nod, man stumbles through the world,
But insist the Thing when met has but one Name.
It’s with the elephant I have my quarrel.
All tales are built on what they presuppose.
Is what is met a thing, a passive force,
That lumbers on life’s road, self undisclosed?
So claims the ancient parable of course.
Perhaps it is a who, Who reveals and speaks,
Forgives and loves and heals, and blind men seeks.
[Elephant image adapted from original image by Felix Andrews on Wikimedia Commons.]
The Dassler Effect 