New Personal Discoveries
Some time ago, I discovered a book titled “The Power Behind Your Eyes” by Dr. Robert-Michael Kaplan. He talks of the need to rest our eyes, taking periodic time-outs from the task of looking so that we can see more fully those things we may be missing through the habit of hyper-vigilance.
The corrective suggestions run the gamut from diet changes, exercise, and refraining from overindulging in “too.” Too long at the computer, too much reading or television watching and at the other extreme, too little light, too little sleep and too tedious a hold on our preferred way of perceiving the world.
I decided to take on one of the suggestions, the easiest one, which is to put the palms of my hands over my eyes while visualizing in my mind’s eye something that is particularly beautiful and energy-giving.
The result of doing this simple exercise whenever I remember has been rewarding. The predominant experience I have while stopping and resting from my consistent interactions with the world is a certain warmth that centers around my eyes. This warmth extends and deepens into a slight feeling of sadness that brings a few hidden tears to the surface.
The moisture is warm, soft and little. It doesn’t morph into a downpour but just lets its presence be known as a little gift of unexpressed tenderness and acknowledgment that my eyes have been witness to fleeting pain, disappointment, frustration, anxiety, fear or exhaustion that is housed in many of the day-to-day experiences we consistently encounter.
The first time sadness visited, it came as a surprise. I didn’t know I was hosting unacknowledged and unexpressed sadness. The second time, it surfaced again, bringing a visual remembrance of a tender last moment with my sweet younger brother, Rob, who died recently on July 14. He is the first sibling of my large family of 11 brothers and sisters to die, and all of us truly loved him because of his sweet and tender heart.
Time and time again, sadness has come to visit. I am learning to look forward to the particular quiet and sense of unfilled space that seems to be the welcoming mat for this sensation that I am naming sad. My mind tries to jump in with the too loud and boisterous “Why are you sad?” question that sends sad scurrying undercover like a child in the presence of a thunderstorm.
I take a few in-and-out breaths and disengage from the mental questioning in favor of letting myself sink into the quiet behind my eyes. Sure enough, as I do, I once again sense the slow, gentle warmth that begins to bring moisture and a lessening of pressure, a surrendering into nowhere and nothing so that I can experience a decided softening into myself and a feeling of rightness and homecoming.
In case you might be thinking that this little flight of fancy might indicate that I have too much time on my hands, instead I suspect I am on the verge of new personal discoveries.
As I court the company of unexpressed tenderness, I feel a gentle but persistent shift happening in my awareness. I can feel an innocence returning to my ability to see. It is a sparkle of enthusiasm and faith in the beauty and magnificence of all aspects of my life.
It is an awakening back into the simplicity of clear-sightedness that acknowledges the underpinnings of faith in the basic goodness of my life in all its twists, turns, energy drains and gains.
I feel a new opportunity to embrace contentment and happiness, which sit waiting for an opening to deliver their gifts of fullness and richness through the acceptance of the way things are, just as they are.
Susan McNeal Velasquez is a local author who has written and produced personal development seminars for over three decades. Reach her at susanvelasquez.com.
