Blindly Staring

I replace the cover over the 12 inch mirror of the reflecting telescope and return it to the darkness, but it continues to seek light. Continues to seek light.

"The beauty", I tell Her Indoors as I cover it up, "is that it continues to work as a telescope, even though there is nobody looking through it". Even though there is nobody looking through it.

In a way, this is true, but a part of me suspects that - like Schroedinger's Cat - it may, simultaneously, be both alive and dead, defined in reality only by the observer. Only by the observer.

I think this may be the same for all that we observe around us. The reality is constantly staring us blindly in the face. Blindly in the face.