I’m grateful for my eyes. The things they’ve seen…
I remember one sunset, sitting on a surfboard at The Cove in Pacific City on a glassy day and literally praying that I’d never forget the colors that came at me from both sky and water. That prayer has been answered in the affirmative, for which I am grateful.
My eyes have gazed into others’, wet with tears of joy or pain, and a communication unspoken has passed through them that I’d have been unable to comprehend any other way.
They’ve enabled me to catch footballs thrown by my son, shed tears as my eldest daughter, dressed in a formal gown in a 4th grade talent show, solo-sang, “My Heart Will Go On.” They’ve seen my youngest cheer at a Varsity football game.
My eyes are big, deep brown and super-expressive. They hide few secrets. I’d be a terrible poker player.
But I suspect that the time for the eyes is passing.
They, for all their qualities, for all the blessings they bring, tell only a superficial version of the truth. They two, the best of friends, can conspire to bring a sense of “knowing” that exceeds the intent of Creator when they were granted to me.
The information they give me in many instances can seem so concrete that my mind has become lazy, believing whatever they say, and speaking constantly. Doing this, I have suppressed the Great Eye, the Heart.
My heart, like many of yours, has been stifled by this helpful but fallible duo, the eyes. When we trust them too much, assign too much meaning to the information they faithfully bring us, the heart is silent. The heart doesn’t interrupt anything. His job is not to speak, but to comprehend.
When it does communicate, it is not to shout, but to whisper. The heart sits in meditation all the time. It’s omniscient, connected to Creator and every single “other” heart in the physical world.
It’s from the heart that the gift of the Seer flows. The Direct Knowers see first from this sacred place, and what is comprehended can’t always be expressed in language – spoken or no. The hearts of the Empaths are the ones that partake of the sacred Sacrament of Gethsemane, that bleed and suffer more every day they're able to survive.
Our hearts know true art from kitsch, poetry from mere prose, and swell with compassion in spite of what the eyes or mind might speak about who might “deserve” it.
If we are to survive this dark night of the collective soul, we will need to quiet the mind, harness the eyes and turn to the heart.
This condition was foreordained by Creator to be the case.
This is the salvation of mankind.
(photographer talented, but unknown to me)