THE BLINK OF AN EYE – And the Curse of Panception

You know those optical sleights of hand where you have to look at an image in a different way in order to spot the cryptic subject? Then, once you’ve seen it, you can’t not see it?

That’s the way many of life’s small wonders embed themselves in one’s consciousness. Things so elusive at first that they get lost in the surrounding noise—or so commonplace as to become invisible simply for their omnipresence. Like one’s own heartbeat or the muted tapping of fingers on computer keyboards.

Well, I’ve discovered another of these riveting minutiae: eye blinking. 

It was during an interview I recently watched on TV. I probably should have been listening to the dialog, but no, I had to notice the eyes. Turns out the guest blinked hers occasionally—maybe once every five or six seconds. But the host batted his eyes at about three times that rate—like every one to two seconds.

Now I suppose we could debate what accounted for the difference. But that’s not the point. The point is that now I can’t see, or hear…or smell anything but blinking. My God, what if I start obsessing about my own blinkin’ eyes?

I guess it’s just the curse of being what I call a panceptive. You notice everything, even stuff you might wish you hadn’t. A deal with the devil.

Is it worth it? Well, I’m overstating the price of panception just a little. So, attempts at humor aside, of course it’s worth it. Keep your eyes peeled, pay attention, be curious, expect wonder…

…and don’t blink.

   “In the concert of life, are you tuned in to the musicians? To the
     conductor? Perhaps it's the music, taking you far away.
     All that presence asks is that, wherever experience takes you, that's
     where you go—fully, gladly and all the way.”      
        FROM UNDER THE WILD GINGER – A SIMPLE GUIDE TO THE WISDOM OF WONDER, BY JEFFREY D. WILLIUS

BREATHING AS ONE – A Meditation Greenhorn’s Epiphany

Ages ago Sally and I took a community-ed meditation class. About all I remember is something our instructor called a “cleansing breath.” And that I enjoyed some of his guided meditations.

So I’m far from a sophisticated meditator, but with that modest intro I’ve devised my own technique which works just fine. It helps me relax and keep things in perspective during these nightmarish times.

 

I usually start a session by watching the “shape” of my breathing—visualizing it not as two distinct movements—in, stop, out, stop—but as one continuous, elliptical cycle.

Once that rhythm is set I picture the inhalations bringing in good stuff, like positive energy, light, abundance, healing… and the exhalations expelling all the bad stuff: negativity, darkness, scarcity and illness/pain. It’s kind of like a pump…or better a conveyor belt; you grab things you want as it winds in, and dump your trash on it as it heads back out.

     All time, past and future, has swirled together
     into this little present-moment eddy.

A PRESENT-MOMENT EDDY
During this morning’s meditation I experienced something remarkable. I’d just gotten my breathing down when, suddenly, the space it occupied grew from arm’s-length scale to cosmic.

One second, I’m thinking of myself and my own respiration; the next, I have this profound sense that somehow my breath is commingling with other breaths, those of loved ones and ancestors, strangers on the other side of the world, and anyone who’s ever entered this sublime, out-of-body dimension.

I drift off magically through space and time, feeling deeply that everything under creation is connected, in me and of me. And that all time, past and future, has swirled together into this little present-moment eddy.

It’s not that I’ve never had this sense before, but usually it’s been more a fleeting glimpse, not there long enough to make the leap from the  intellectual to the emotional. This time it does though; it feels so powerful, so very real.

Curiously, as my soul soars like this, I’ve never felt more grounded, more centered.

A SILVER LINING
One of my fondest wishes during the pandemic and the other convulsions wracking our poor planet has been that something good will come of it all. Something transformational about how we treat each other and our precious planet.

If it were nothing else, I’d settle for a very deep, broad, cross-cultural sense that we’re all—we and all of Nature’s miracles—connected as one. And a contagion of empathy.

I think that connection is what I experienced this morning. I hope I can let it percolate through me, flavoring not just my rarefied reveries, but all my comings and goings.

And I pray it might find the light of day, too, in you and in everyone, everywhere…and soon.