It is raining profusely outside. Inside, sheltered, your
skin does not feel the wetness of the sky. To see the rain, you can look
through the window at the drops pouring from the sky, focusing on their motion,
bulbous shape, and intensity. Or, you can concentrate on the window pane,
itself home to parasitic rain drops which try desperately not to slide down the
pane to their deaths and which, in doing so, obscure the normal transparency of
the glass. Although you are looking in a single direction, seemingly at the
same point in space, and you are essentially observing the same phenomenon in
both viewing cases, you can never see
both at once. Your focus must flit back and forth between the two. This constant alteration of focus is similar to the way we approach the house/home dialectic. What is perhaps most interesting, is that without
seeing the raindrops falling, it is impossible to empirically explain why the
window is wet, and without seeing the wet window, one cannot not understand the
viscosity of water, the friction produced by a seemingly smooth glass surface
as compared to air.
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