If Only We Could All See with Wide Eyes.
A dear friend and powerful energy worker once told me my soul left my body many years ago, when I was just a child, yet in my calmest and most clarified moments, I see with wide eyes.
A circadian clarity breathes early with a gentle prod, erupting quickly into a nag, willing me to rise with the Sun and follow Him down to the shore today.
“You’ll be free!”
I feel a calling… something inside me smiles. The call from a place in the sky, majestic.
Morning air, morning light, and I have made it to the ocean. Discarded flip-flops, soles sink deep into damp yellow sand… squeezed enthusiasm between toes… I am connected again.
Peering out from the brim of my hat, I am asked to present the fullness of my face to Him, chin rising like sunrise, exposing my skin to His warmth in respect as He appears in perfect cosmic station, suspended, like a planetary pendant, hung against bare blue. I stand, in mirrored stature. I am affected — hand on heart. Emanating rays soak affection into bare skin.
Rays of contradiction; Father Sun — noble, almighty yet precious, curved in delicacy. It is felt too, that I myself am a contradiction — told I don’t belong here, that I’ve never belonged. Too fragile for this world and those around me. Yet for all my supposed oddities, I am a beating heart.
Those that have brushed up against me in the drift, the ever-seeking of a place called home. The heart-space of acceptance. The others do not see.
And they don’t see me. Something inside me has been stirring, since the Sun-day I went deeper with this Grandfather energy. He brought with Him great teachings — of respect, of compassion — in reference to the masculine souls of my human experience.
And in these calm, most clarified moments, I see
far, far beyond
the me,
the I,
the girl.
Bare irises in offering, I stare hard, no blinking, until His sphere glows white in solid inversion. Encircled, His iridescent mane; blotting reds, blues and greens — colors that bleed into one other as they flicker, eyes playing their tricks. Trickery or the ancient way? The way that we are meant to receive Grandfather?
They say, energetically, we as humans benefit from sun-gazing, particularly in such calm, clear moments: New dawn. Impending dusk. Experiencing this authentically, the concept of healing through such an exchange surely cannot be far-fetched. In my calmest and most clarified moments, I see colors.
The turquoise of sweeping barrels below now dominate the spherical surrounds, reminding me of the significance of this color: Speak! Express! Do not suppress your emotions, Dear One.
Self-doubt and the devouring of feelings, how can this be? Why allow others to dominate? To quash me when I have things to say?
Within that moment, when their words take flight to land uncomfortably on my chest, my lungs — later to burn in my belly — how is it that I may feel them hit like grenades, yet react in total silence? Grinding, pushing, so far down, inevitably within, onto the compost heap, they tumble and twist up my insides, my breathing so shallow.
Yet right here, now, the blinding white ball melts all away — good and bad.
Like a portal in the sky, I am taken some place, where there is only truth, where I see the mounting tide and the wind is my breath, yet the waves don’t whisper, they bellow. Bellowing, heaving rows of surf — visually, they carry and surge liquid-gold sunlight in spectacular reflection, allowing light itself to know no boundary.
Elemental interplay, rhythmic in gargantuan pull, hushed pre-climax of in-breath followed by crashing diamonds of sunlight, bubbling inside a white cloaked and magnanimous out-breath.
I see this as a journey, of that which is energy.
Of all that there is, in these most calm and clear moments, I see the path of the sun direct, sprinting and riding with the waves so fast. Such a vision, this pathway from the sky. A touch of melancholy is infused now: if only we could all see with wide eyes. How often do we see the delicacies?
I see kinetic energy of Mother’s tides, gradients of damp, fast-seeping, backwards in misty somersaults, exquisite sacred patterns revealed in the sand. Speaking, “Be humble, for there is more than ‘You’.”
I see the birds dipping and soaring, cutting through the clear horizon. I feel my heart fly on the back of Livingston’s seagull. Such serene prerogative — when to move, when to glide, a stirring of my own spirit. We could fly to the site of the cliff face, where again my naked eyes shall see.
Faces of the ancestors in bloody, burnt rock.
A junction here of wisdom: the Sun and His shadows, dusty pinks and yellows, chalky cracks falling through time. Giant bedrock and ancient voices in the shadow of respect. Father Sun’s casts and contrasts, highlighting the earth’s wrinkles, tethered weathering and all its many tales.
I see elegant steps up into the mouth now and tiptoe carefully to the perfect perch. The grand rock feels smooth and soothing on my soles and sends instant age-old grounding, permeating upwards, into my being — a true and deep sensory comfort. This is where I should be today: in beloved Nature.
Still calm and clear, I embrace this vantage point, cast my gaze out now, back across the ocean, where the sun beats down on a beautiful new-day horizon.
I see the passers-by and their animals. Footprints and paw prints trailing through the sand. Speaking to me as a blessed painting — the animal kingdom intertwined in kinship with humankind, and in turn, with the earth itself.
What footprints are we lending while bearing down on our precious Mother Earth? Is there hope in such a reality, where so few of us do see… with wide eyes? I feel the weight of a thousand passers-by gone blind. I see first-world luxuries: Contemplation and Depression. Where are their blinding-white inversions?
The passionate, instinctual, immediacy of our forefathers. And when I feel it is my soul, that is not seen… frustrations, they break me. Broken little heart pieces, I’ve grown too tired to mend. Disappointments and separations are erosive. Too easy now, white flags wave at every heart-prod, and my form, it slightens, but will I truly bow down into self, forego the calling of the greater good
beyond the me,
the I,
the girl? For surely that is the betrayal…
the only one.
This life — flowing, flying, bubbling, burning, breathing, growing, shining life. It sees the sun, the light and the dark, the path of energy that breaks all boundaries, the elemental interplay that is life itself. Nothing less, nothing more.
And in a fallen reality all but made of illusion, only wide eyes sow the seeds of hope, light the fire and oxygenate that which we with wide eyes can’t ignore, because with clarity and calm comes true vision, and with vision comes responsibility.
***
An ongoing journey with life and health has led Ange Sang back to her true creative therapy, through the written word and the lens of the camera. Ange is a devoted lover of all things nature, a tree-hugger, and has a heart that feels utterly compelled to shoot arrows of word and image, straight from her mystical experience of life to as many receivers as possible. On a unique path of physical illness, Ange began to share her written and visual arts as tools of thanks — a nod to an ever-rising theme of gratitude, in recognition of those around her. Her heart-vision continues to find its solace and drive in the grace of Mama Nature and the aim to recognize and articulate the grapple of the human condition.
***
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