22 November 2022

I Take My Glasses Off To See

I take off my glasses to see.


The crisp edges of the world melt into each other as I take off my glasses and sink into the pool. It’s hazy and green in the daytime, but right now in the pink afternoon it is liquid black satin. Dirty from digging in the garden, I relish every cool inch of the water as I take the plunge up to my chin. My freshly washed hair demands at least a few more days of not battling chlorine and stray leaves.


Although my eyes turn my back yard into a fuzzy kaleidoscope of colours, the water remains sharp. The smooth waves under the perfect surface form bending ovals of pink dusk light and I can see them as clearly as the dirt embedded in the seams of my hands. I’m short sighted. I can see for a foot before my eyes don’t bother anymore.


But right now, after all the emails, the ads, the scrolling, the precision. Right now I take off my glasses to see.


The edges of everything are truer. The dog’s bulk is weightier. The cat’s legs are slinkier. Everything is more itself with my glasses off. The tiny details blend into the whole being. Colours are more distinct, and the true substance of everything is revealed. A bush with thin twigs becomes a lattice, whereas hearty plants fill themselves to the leaves with the strength their roots provide.


I do this with patients too. I take their pulse and roll my thumbs like homing missiles into the sore spots, finding the true texture of what is causing them pain.


No eyes needed.


Then, I let my eyes soften. This is my favourite bit. As I remind myself to not get my clean hair wet, I gaze around the yard with unfocused eyes and see the colours. The auras. The blossoming energy of all I love in my home.


Clean. Whole. Thriving.


My garden smells like the fresh buds on a rosemary bush and newly mown grass. The tinge of chlorine and presence of chickens lays in the undertones. Add that to the dark soil overturned into garden beds and even covered in sweat and dirt I feel clean.


No static. No shackles to my phone. Just some excellent drums from The Amazing Devil and the free splash of water as I glide from one end of the pool to the other. Clean, free, and full.


Too full.


That’s why I was in the garden.


Everyone has cataclysmic issues with work, family, friends, romances. Everyone but me. Times are hard like trying to squeeze through a tight rubber tube, but we can manage. Today I couldn’t though. I couldn’t get through my own tube and help everyone else along the way. I couldn’t bare one more person needing me for input on something I would have had to solve myself. I love them dearly and I normally have all the energy and the time in the world to listen, but not today.


Not yesterday either.


Not really the day before.


And not for the rest of the week.


Sometimes you just need to draw a line and say, “I need to put on my oxygen mask first.”


So for the rest of the week I only have time and space for things that require nothing from me.


All of this was decided as the water melted away the digital pressure I’ve endured for far too long. For the first time in forever I got to see the colours of the garden spirits. The rosemary is royal blue. The lime is very lime. The mulberry is pink, and my cinnamon is a bit sad and brown. I’ll pick her up soon though. The thriving Jackson Pollock of rainbow souls throughout the garden sang to me. They gave me life. The Jasmine sang in silver to me even though she’s finished flowering. The cactus chanted in spines of blood red.


Then I looked to the silhouetted pine tree, carving a fissure between the pink and blue of the sky. I can see it perfectly. Every branch, any birds, I feel like I can see it down to its every needle for twenty metres away. Some things always stand clear and resolute, no matter where they are and who looks upon them. That trees knows itself so clearly, there is nothing to hide in the blur my vision normal creates.


It sounds outlandish, but when I unfocus my eyes I see a whole new world of colour. I see beyond the veil. I do it with people to. Mostly when I lose focus while they’re giving a speech. I remember wondering in my early high school years how the people on stage made the lighting give them such big shadows with such cool colours. Then I realised no one else could see it. I didn’t see it as well on film, so I knew it was something different.


I share this gift with Mothy. It takes practice and I often need reminding to use it but soaking my soul in that water reminded me of how beautiful the world is when I can’t see it.


It was just what I needed, to take my glasses off so I could see.

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