Mazes

I had a mental picture last night of human relationships - one of those that the mental picture is so vivid that it stays with you, even when awake.

The picture is that of one of a form of a fun house glass maze, the mirrored ones that you keep running into reflections of yourself as you try and make your way through - except, like in The Gods of Mars (and there's an obscure reference), it's of clear glass, so you can see your way across to the other side.

In this case, the relationship becomes the room, with each individual on each side of the room. So often, over time, we erect these barriers, these glass walls - invisible but present. The first few aren't so bad -"It's right there in front of me" you say, "I know where it is and I can always get around it."

But as time goes on, you realize that the barrier has become a maze - you can still see across the room, but it is terribly difficult to get through. If you try to get through, even though you can see clearly, you keep slamming into the glass and whirling around, trying another direction, then slamming into the glass again. You make progress, but it is low and painful - or perhaps you realize you have ended up in a different part of the room entirely.

The part that has me wondering is when the glass goes up: do we realize it as a barrier? Or have we become so reliant on sight and physicality that we assume that if we see, we can always communicate?