Clarity

I wonder why we don't always see the world with clarity. I try. I'll look around, study an object, feel a surface, strain against its fibers and tissues and being--but sometimes the beauty and the poetry of it really just isn't there. Does a heart which is afraid to created a connection cause this? Is it an illusion? Or is the poetry really just lost sometimes?
Perhaps the blurr is a defense mechanism? But what am I defending myself from? Is defense needed from colors and textures? Will the sharp edges of vision's majesty cut through my soul? Or will it break through the bondage that I am in? Will it finally release me from this space in which I find myself trapped? What if clarity is a view into a completely new and separate world? How can I open that door?
My moment of most clarity came to me today as I was cutting potatoes. The knife in my right hand, the potato in the left. Maybe that's it? Perhaps clarity comes at a point of change--a point when one object--a whole potato--becomes something else--dinner. :)