The Unseen

The Thing

Because it was not a thing.

While attempting to understand Mercurius, I realized that he continually eluded my grasp. The more intently I fixed my gaze upon him, the more indistinct he became. Was this failure mine, or did it belong to his very nature?

Perhaps it was because he was too exposed; not a mystery concealed behind a veil, but an openness concealed by its own boundlessness.

My mind, accustomed to perceiving objects, may have been unable to perceive movement itself—unable to perceive attraction. As though I were incapable of beholding a wholeness without a center, a totality without a fixed point around which to orient my sight.

The secret was not hidden behind a curtain.

There was no curtain.

It was I who imagined one.

The mist itself was what I had been seeking.

How was I to perceive him? How was I to recognize him? Present within the very focus of my gaze, yet remaining beyond the reach of my vision...

The answer was not to force recognition.

Mercurius reveals himself.

One cannot draw his attraction toward oneself; one is drawn into it. One does not seize it but consents to it. If one attempts to resist, or if one reaches too eagerly, perception fails.

Mercurius is not an object among objects.

He is the movement between them.

He is not what the eye settles upon, but that by which the eye is led.

And perhaps this is why he appears nowhere in particular, while being present everywhere at once.