I look out of the window near my desk on occasion to help me think.
A bird has ‘bombed’ the window . A serious amount.
It’s been distracting me all day. Causing me to focus not on the view outside, but instead drawing my attention to the window pane. Somehow making me look near, rather than far. Obstructing my thinking.
I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere!
Watching Motorsport at Donington Park today.
I’m sitting on a hill in the infield looking at the old hairpin. Cars are weaving down the Craner Curves, jostling for track position into this all important corner.
Meanwhile, I’m listening to the race commentary on the circuit app on my phone. The commentary covers the action elsewhere on the circuit. So I can listen to the incident at Redgate where two cars have entered the gravel trap.
When we go racing we take a camping stove and I’m tucking in to a freshly made egg and bacon roll. The soft yoke has just exploded across my fingers. The smell and taste a sensory delight.
The sun is warming my right ear.
I’m struck by my ability to separate my senses. To see one set of action, hear another, feel the sun and direct my olfactory and gustatory senses to a stomach welcoming culinary classic.
Maybe separating our senses is easier than focusing them all on the same experience? We do it every day. I do wonder what I’m losing as a result though?
The other day I crossed the road, joining the opposite footpath at an elbow. A ninety degree corner in the road.
Coming towards me was a man.
He made a beeline for the apex of the corner.
That was my trajectory too.
We were on a collision course.
I looked at him, trying to read what his decision might be.
We can work this out, together, I urged.
No obvious signals.
No eye contact.
He stared steadfastly at the corner.
I looked straight at him.
Engage me, I said with my eyes.
Let’s work this through.
Nothing
A second had passed.
He stared at the corner.
No eye contact.
Collision seemed imminent.
Inevitable.
I broke my stride.
Created a gap in our flight paths.
He pushed on through.
I passed safely a pace behind him at the apex.
Disaster averted.
Still no eye contact.
No recognition of my existence.
Strange how eye contact allows the other person in. Denying it seems somehow to keep us safe. Protected. No need to feel any responsibility. Any connection. Any trust. Any shame. Any emotion at all.
The man got the corner.
I got more.
Today seems still.
Little or no wind. Trees firm, statesman-like, statuesque. Clouds spread like a cottonwool blanket across the sky; not racing to a future destination, not rain laden, not billowing. The light calm and purposeful. A constant. Not indecisive, not pulled asunder by cloud and cloud break, not overpowering, just there.
As a result, wildlife seems content. Happy to be. The birds seem at peace. Much seems slower. The shadows seem an equal fixture to that that is physical; holding their place alongside the things that cast them.
Sounds seem more balanced, more in harmony with the stillness around. They seem to complement what can be seen and felt. Sensory symphony.
Still is good.
Shut your eyes and see
James Joyce
Sometimes looking blinds us to what is really going on.
Especially when the truth lies inside.
image: Tony Allen
I was talking with a coach today as their supervisor. They were speaking about procrastination – about something they wanted to get done but recognised they were avoiding.
As they spoke about moving forward, their hand made a shoving motion from in front of their face to their right. I was curious. They then spoke about avoiding this thing because they didn’t like advertising themselves and their talents. With this explanation they made a ‘jazz hands’ gesture with hands framing their face.
I stopped them talking and asked them to notice what just happened. They smiled and reflected back these movements that accompanied their words. They had noticed that their own gestures said as much or more about their stuckness as the story does. Our conversation took a new direction.
Sometimes I wonder just how helpful to our condition of ‘being’ if might be, if we were able to watch ourselves as actors on our own stage?
Have you ever noticed that dusk brings a particular behaviour for a short period?
During the day, we exist in our offices or our houses, with curtains wide open, blinds pulled up, shutters flung back. The light inside and outside in balance somehow, we seem open to the notion that people might look in, might see us. And that’s ok. There’s a form of equilibrium. Equality of visibility in this balanced light.
Then dusk arrives. We turn on lights inside our homes and offices. But we leave curtains and blinds wide open. The result is the light is stronger inside than outside and people can see in. See us more clearly. We are silhouetted in the artificial lights. More visible. More exposed. So people look, sometimes stare.
Then we draw the curtains, drop the blinds, turn the light off maybe. In essence we hide. Perhaps too exposed now, we retreat, away from prying eyes. And so it stays, until dawn, when we throw open the window ‘shields’ and allow natural light to flood in, safe in the knowledge that we can be seen again, but not clearly seen, not highlighted, not in the spotlight.
And so the pattern repeats.
Maybe it’s like that in life?
Happy to be seen when we blend in, when the light of others equates to our own light? Maybe though when we are in the spotlight, highlighted, more visible, we seek to hide? We set out to draw a veil over ourselves, to become more private, more introverted? We quite literally pull down the shutters.
Instead.
Shine your light.
Hold lightly the sight of others in the soft light.
Treat people like mirrors and watch how you reflect in their eyes.
Sometimes that is hard.
How people see us, experience us, can carry more truth than how we perceive ourselves.
Climb the mountain so you can see the world, not so that the world can see you.
David McCullough Jr
Sometimes we lose sight of ourselves. Our talent. Our beauty. Our ability. Our heart.
If you lose sight of yourself, listen to those who love you. They can see.
illuminated dandelion 