One morning early, bending to trash, I saw a flash, a light not of this world. “Maybe my retina has detached,” I thought. The gold white iridescent microburst was passing strange but then it was gone and to date has never returned. Of course I went “all Woody Allen” and imagined I had a disease. Then I took a Blake-ean view—it was an unbidden holy vision. Predictably over time I forgot about it. But every now and then that flash, that otherworldly color, returns. I see it. I who do not see well. I know this is not my story alone. All our eyes expect to be received.
Planet of the Blind 