Eye See You and Me, Photo by BradensEye

Peering power triumphs peer pressure any day. There’s something mysteriously inviting through the vehicle of a good gawking to induce answers for the enormity of our wonderings. Commencing a proper contemplation via the scrutiny of marveling in the continued focus of a single aim is what I invite as sterling staring. This is no drunk unable to avoid the googling that has zero to do with the internet. For here is the observation of ages. Instead, grand stare-gazing gestures what lifetimes have left for you to glean. Our layers have walked there before us. If we listen closely they will unmask those atoms of knowledge that grant gurus levitation rights. Introspection is merely a morsel on the plate of wisdom waiting for us to be hungry.

The lesson can lie in someone else’s sight. Within venerable wellness and intentional community events, the drill of stare-gazing is similar to holy communion. There, I’ve come to literally ‘see’ more of me by virtue of silent stretches simply trained on the pupil’s with whom I pair. Exploration has lived at the heart of humanity long before we dared craft a rocket to the moon. Scholarly ways should not be reserved for the academic upper crust or children sweating the small stuff of every secondary grade. Studying is a window into the soul. Information is a progressing elaboration of mutations, whereby evolution rests at the core. Understanding is an endless intelligence. We can pry ancient practices just by looking deeply enough through the history of another’s eyes. Maybe we realize to apply elements that occurred prior. Else, an erudite perception tutors us to walk another avenue ~ away, renovated, reclaimed anew.

Any examination of ourself holds the secrets to transcend our universe. Open your willingness to supplement everything you think you can salvage from books or relationships alone to sharpen the point of your personality locked in concentration upon attentive surveillance. Animals are ascendent authorities about penetrating peering. They aren’t so confused about the lack of language translation. They rely on the stare-game to mark their prey, land a mate, stupefy us with their talents or massively mesmerize. Birds at my glass pane come as close as my eyeballs can match, craning their necks, cocking a head, or the furious fluttering of their wings to keep steady with my regard. All have clues to eternity their eyes infer for me. I’ve encountered the fabric of my sentimentality under the spell of staring at cats’ eyes during the delectation of a stroking fest instigated by me. This small creature with fur all over becomes catatonic (pun intended, of course) with the cadence of my cuddles. As drool trails, I detect the substance of my nurturing. All I really want are the same rewards of affection. The ah-ha: I give in order to impact myself sweetly.

Your own eyes retain a prize. One time, along the course of a loquacious acid trip, I needed some time alone. I found my way to this quiet bedroom thinking I’d take a nap. Only there were two big closets with sliding glass mirrors staring at me. Like a young child noticing itself for the first time, I sat there nose to nose with myself and my hands touching one another in the reflection for hours. I could see the blood coursing in my veins. Never afraid, my appraisal was intensely enthralling. My self-esteem deemed me a miracle I try not to forget today. When I’m sullen, sometimes I survey that self so engrossed with sadness. Often, an extended receptive stare at the mirror reminds me of how pretty I am to help kick away the torrent of the tears. My eyes glossed over with wetness peak an Adriatic Sea blue. Probably a little on the weird side, I’ve always loved the appearance of my peepers when I’m crying. It’s as if their stare reinvents me into the beauty of that vast body of water, so I can perceive the body of the planet is me and without me. We are conjoined. I’d be lying to myself if I said this didn’t work every single time. When we behold such accuracy, we serve the shaman and the shadows of our inner self.

Accused of staring at our tech devices is currently customary. But staring for good doesn’t wholly require eyes. Meditation has taught me to stare into my mind’s eye. Whether with regular vision or in its absence, the world is glistening with stare-gazing astonishments. There are ever-lasting means to engage your gaze in development. Some of my favorites include clouds, a candle flame, the night sky, and certainly miles of ocean. Even wheat stalks that flutter in a soft breeze have brought me to a captivating coma. Places like New York’s Washington Square Park with many people milling about or the Zehlendorf forest cemetery in Berlin where I swear faeries live are veteran grounds for a superb staring analysis. Unto our insides agape, we thoughtfully beguile our meaning.

Don’t stop staring into the abyss of so many hypnotizing things you won’t want to miss.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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