The lonely life of the prophet

Did you see this week's PBF? It features a book of those now famous stereograms. You know, from Mallrats? It's a sailboat stupid!

Now, in these modern times the educated populace is well acquainted with these amusements, and furthermore, the methods of their construction and accompanying documentation have improved to the point where almost any person of moderate intellect and normal binocular vision can observe these wonders.

But, cast your mind back, dear reader, to the before-time. Harken to a time when I, a young whelp in my teenage bedroom had all my powers of concentration focused, laser-like on a magazine. Remove from your mind base thoughts reader, for no bombastic Maxim nor forbidden Playboy was this, no! This was an issue of Games magazine. There in the back-pages was an advertisement for The Amazing Patented Stereogram Poster, accompanied by a demonstration of the technology, appearing to all the world as simply a random array of black and white dots, as may be seen when a television is tuned to an empty station. Cryptically, the reader was instructed to 'stare through' the page until the two dots at the top of the page merged in to one whereupon he or she would suffer the visitation of four shapes. Describing these four shapes in a letter sent by post would earn the writer a substantial discount on the poster, and I, ever game for a challenge set my self to the task.

I became mildly obsessed with this confounding image, engaging in visual combat whenever I had a free moment with the magazine, and practiced the mandated 'looking through' objects when I did not. My two eyes were subjected to the kind of gymnastics usually only imposed upon 12 year old Russian girls. My schooling suffered.

I will not claim that my faith did not falter. Perhaps I was not worthy, my eyes simply too weak, or congenitally deformed to the point where even my royal-observatory-grade glasses could not compensate for my deficiency. Perhaps there was a misprint in the magazine and as a result the task was impossible. And perhaps, dear reader, sinister mischief was afoot. Was I the victim of an international hoax? A rube and an easy mark? Staring at a nonsense image to no purpose other than to feed an unseen tormentor's dark glee?

Yet, in my labours there were glimmers of success. How could I continue otherwise? Very occasionally the confounding blur of dots would begin to converge and almost convey a meaning just at the very images of my perception.

And of course, as you dear reader were no doubt sure all along, but which was to me by no means a certainty or even a likely probability, mirabile dictu the scales fell from mine eyes, and before where they was only flatness and noise, suddenly there was depth and order. The two dimensional page suddenly became an impossible shadow box holding 4 shapes suspended, exactly as promised! I was euphoric and held the vision for as long as possible fearing that this was my one and only glimpse at this impossible dimension. My fears were unfounded, however, and I realized that I could now perform the feat at will!

Elated and bouyed by my triumph, I wanted to share this discovery. Picture me now, waving a magazine and exhorting parents, relatives, friends and strangers alike to "look through" the page. Picture them, confounded and annoyed with this brash youth. Put yourself in my shoes and imagine my frustration, wanting to share my amazing discovery but finding no audience patient and willing enough to hear my message.

I imagine this is how the crazed desert prophet must feel. Knowing, not just believing, but truly knowing in the core of one's being that the world contains more depth and wonder than ever previously suspected. Knowing that if you could just make people listen, if they would just believe you a little, enough to put in the modicum of effort required that they too could see what only you have seen, but meeting only stubborn indifference and a baffling unwillingness to invest the smallest amount of attention to gain new sight.