Yesterday, I headed out late afternoon for a shore walk here on the Maine coast; and I mean literally, “headed” out as my pace was pressed by the horsewhip of work-thoughts and worries. Remembering a friend’s practice suggestion, I stopped for a moment on the beach and listening to the cry of my Zoom-weary eyes, I gently tucked them in behind their lids. And that small muscular lidding action woke me up to a world of gull-song, feet balanced in uneven sand, seaweed aroma questioning my nose, residues of tea on my tongue, and my winter coat heavy on my shoulders, but welcomed for its warmth in the freezing wind. Standing there, purposely eyeless, freed from the singular orbit of being ‘subject here looking at objects there’, the “I” of me widened, and on cue, tuned itself via all my other senses to the harmonies of that shore place. We all were singing together; a choir of aliving.
That small act of closing my eyes and allowing myself to be in the world via all my other on-board human senses, connected me to an expansive and heart-full belonging; something my abstract mind could not and cannot wrap its head around. Thank you, Friend, for re-minding me to close my eyes and be alive with all my senses. I shiver with the most exquisite sense of all: awe.