The Eye Within
By Victor Epp
I have no idea where I came across this little poem, but it’s innocence and vulnerability struck a chord that demanded further examination. Who would write such a thing - certainly not some self-assured mature individual racing along life’s busy highway – certainly not some over - confident acquisitor amassing a hoard of “stuff” – or would they?
At first it seems child-like; something a young person looking for an identity would innocently explore. On the other hand, it could quite easily be someone whose identity has come into question or doubt. How many people do you know who go storming through life like a bull in a china shop and suddenly get stopped cold by clear messages of ‘who do they think they are?’ A message like that will come as such a shock that they might be prompted to question themselves. Well, you have a look. Have you ever contemplated such inner thoughts?
What do you see when you look at me?
Am I ugly as sin ‘neath the skin I’m in?
Or does it hide what’s really inside?
If my shell were to break,
Tell me what you could take
That’s of value to you
If you only knew
What there is to see?
When you look at me.
Well, what do you think? Assuming one were to actually contemplate such a question, it becomes one of the most intriguing puzzles imaginable when we stop to think about it. What makes it even more so is that we ourselves can’t figure it out. Maybe it’s too complex. Maybe we don’t know where to look – or the places we look are not where we are at the moment when we need to find pieces of ourselves.
One of the fundamental failures in modern day society is no ignore learning about the enormity of the human spirit. That something so magnificent and empowering is overlooked is unconscionable! Instead we tend to externalize our inner value for the judgment of others by the way we look and the way we act outwardly. How is it that we focus all our energies on the biodegradable carcass that carries our spirit from beginning to end until it finally turns into dust or ashes? How is it that we imprison the only part of our being that transcends our mortal frailties and just apply another coat of varnish to an aging body for the world to see?
Not too long ago a Dene Elder was heard to say that unless you use a resource, you lose respect for it. He happened to be speaking in the context of hunting the gray whale, but if you consider the principles of careful husbandry these people apply to all of their resources; it is possible to impose the same ethic on the human spirit. That much we can understand. But from here we plunge into the abyss of trying to define the human spirit. The task is daunting to say the least, if not completely impossible.
On a good day the spirit is boundless, as vast as all the stars in all the galaxies. If you've ever lain under the sky on a clear night watching the northern lights dancing across the heavens in spontaneous abandon, you might get some small sense of what goes on within your own spirit, somewhere inside you. In a mere instant it can be plunged into unfathomable depths of despair; not unlike being trapped in a raging gale in the North Atlantic where there is no hope; only desperation. Just as suddenly a warm summer breeze can creep over you like the softest, most delicate blanket only to turn into intransigent defiance without explanation or notice.
What is this thing called the spirit? How can such a kaleidoscopic range of emotion take place in the same body at will without our noticing it? Yet what we see is all we see. The untold richness that lies within our very soul is lost; even to us as we primp and preen our bodies and adorn them with silk and ermine and other finery. We surround ourselves with things to please us and impress our neighbors. It often seems that all our efforts are directed toward accumulating “things” until we're out of breath from the effort. Yet we neglect to take our strength and nourishment from the very spirit within that will give it up so willingly if we but ask.
Pulled to earth by my feet of clay
To plod along in my weary way
Life should offer me so much more
To fly like an eagle - rise and soar
Above the hoards of marching mass
File along their mindless path?
Soar 'til I reach where my spirit is free
Where I can rejoice and really be me.
Somebody once made the comment that inside every big woman was a delicate little china doll. On another occasion, there was a tiny Chinese girl who looked exactly like a China doll, and inside she thought of herself as a raging Amazon. Go figure. So in fact, our eyes lie to us about what there is to see. Some of the biggest women I remember were diminutive in stature. Mother Theresa comes to mind. So does Doctor Lotta Hichmanova who single-handedly wrestled millions and millions of dollars out of the world to found the Humanitarian Service Committee after WW II. Both of these women were about the size of a minute. Yet their spirits moved mountains. How did they do that?
Perhaps we are equipped with another eye - an inner eye that lets us see in another dimension.
It seems the ancient ones knew about such things and made use of them. There is no lack of evidence of the three worlds of the Shaman as a model for the universe. Through his trances he could travel from one world to another and communicate with those spirits who resided there. These machinations for the rest of us are a little extreme in today's world. I suppose the closest we can come to that is through what we call meditation. And how many of us ever indulge ourselves to that extent?
Still, all these parts of our spirit are available to us. If we can claim ownership of our spirit, then we must also be able to own its parts. And therein lies the key. To find that place within where who we really are resides and bring it into consciousness is the beginning of emerging from the maze of outward expectations and into real reality. Like an elaborately tailored wardrobe, we will know instinctively that it fits perfectly. It is then incumbent on us to wear it steadfastly as a garment that never loses its appeal.
Yet, if it's that easy, why is it so elusive a goal to achieve? Think about it. Who has taught you about the infinite number of points of light that is your spirit? Who has encouraged you to reach for those you can identify? Who has opened your mind to welcome those not yet experienced? Who has equipped you to go on a vision quest to find who you really are? Does anyone even know how to do these things anymore? I don't think there are many.
As I said in the beginning, some thoughts enter the mind to make you go ‘Hmmm’. And every now and then, it is an interesting exercise to plumb the depths of such abstract, or perhaps not so abstract thoughts. I felt it worthwhile sharing. You decide.
