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through the eyes of tony

By Dakota Walker

He was gripping the string of the kite with both hands, feeling the movement guide his hands up and down, to the left, to the right – all depending on the direction of the wind.

I described the kite to Tony, "It’s a rectangular shaped, with a long tail on it. It's flying really high up!"

"What does it look like Dakota?" He asked. I stopped for a moment and looked at Tony. He is much shorter than I am, his Asian skin blending with his dark buzzed hair. His shirt neatly tucked into his crisp blue shorts, not looking like he’s on day four of our river trip. He fingers the kite string tirelessly and rocks his body back and forth with his head in a perpetual bow towards the ground. Tony has been blind since birth. He has never seen a kite, or the river we are rafting down. He has never seen color, or trees, or faces, or any of the many sights we take for granted every day.

I try again. "It’s rectangular Tony, with pockets or tubes – four of them side by side sewn together but hollow to allow the air to move through the kite. The tubes are yellow inside, like the sun – bright and warm. The bottom is a fire engine red, and the topside is blue, like your shorts. The tail is made up of 5 long strings about the same length of you from head to toe, all different colors. They are tangled up at the base of the kite but they are flowing freely at the ends – each color is flapping in the wind. The kite is way up there, it’s so high I can barely see it. Maybe it’s as high as fifteen kayaks lined up end to end."

Tony pushed for more, "Describe it again Dakota, what is it doing?" I learned on this trip that to see the beauty that lies around us one must go deeper than skimming the surface. You must examine the details that make it what it is. I knew I had achieved that level of awareness when Tony would say, "I see it now." Sometimes it took 4, 6, 10 and 20 times for me to peel the onion before he saw it. Eventually, through my words and details, I was able to paint an image in his mind that allowed him to see what I saw. Most of the time I felt he and I saw things together for the first time.

I try again. "It looks like it’s alive, it’s flying furiously and passionately in the sky – reaching as high as it can. The string holds it back though, keeping it from freedom. It fights, it pulls, feel it pull Tony, feel the power of the wind and the torment of the bounded kite. The tail is flapping in the wind trying to give itself more momentum, wanting it to soar. If it could it would lift you off this ground and take you with it. It must be so high that it can see for miles, see the ribbon of water that makes up the river, the smooth contours of the red rock. It wants to fly side by side with the hawks and canyon wrens." I close my eyes in an effort to see what Tony is seeing.

"I can see it Dakota, describe it more!" His voice is like a child full of excitement. That first revelation of something new, of seeing something for the first time. I reach deeper to describe something that to most of us seems mundane, simple, and trivial. Perhaps exciting to fly, but to those who can "see" it, it is just a kite. But to Tony it is more than that, and when I make that realization, I understand the importance of looking beyond the piece of nylon flapping in the wind.

I close my eyes again,  this time standing behind Tony. I guide his hands along the string and pull it down then let go, allowing him to feel the power behind the wind. "Listen Tony; listen to that shutter of the kite as the wind kicks it." He hears it. "Take yourself up there - become the kite. Feel the wind riveting your ribcage allowing you to feel weightless and lofty." In his mind I know he has gone there as his weight shifts from one foot to the other and for a moment he turns his face skyward.  "Fall over onto your back and do the back stroke in the sky, through the air. Feel the sun's warmth on your face and the rush of air glide through your hair. Your only safety is this string - it's the only thing that can bring you back to earth. Now cut it." Tony laughs, the thought of cutting free sounds so footloose and frivolous. "Where do you go when you cut the string?"

Tony allowed his vision to take over the game as he described what he saw. The ruins with pot shards scattered all over. The petroglyphs of "Baseball Man". The duckies as they stride through the rapids. Even the river guides dressed in their funny hats.  From up there he could see it all, and in the moments we flew a kite he showed me how beautiful our world is. He described to me how the rock above the fire pit in the ruin was softer than the it was elsewhere. How the pot shard he "looked" at contained the slight indentation of someone's finger from when the pot had been made. He could even tell me how the water shifted directions 3 times while riding through Ledge Rapid.

I was a river guide all summer on the San Juan, taking close to 12 trips down the same 26 miles of water. Tony's trip was the last trip of my season and it was those 7 days that I finally saw the inherent beauty of the earth that surrounded me. Suddenly the things I merely paddled past on previous runs moved me to tears this trip. From our conversations, I certainly gained an appreciation for having eyesight, but more than that I gained an even deeper appreciation for Tony's insight.

All articles are copyrighted 2005 ©Dakota Walker All Rights Reserved. No portion of this article may be reproduced without the written permission of author.