Life in the western world celebrates all things cerebral. Our lives are intimately woven into our 'hand held aphrodisiacs', the name given by my friend Faye for the cell phones, computer games, blackberries, et all--the electronic framework of our worlds that excite, titillate and hold sway over us. The 21st Century has been referred to as the Age of the Brain. But human beings are much more than their brains. Our intellect while leading us to astonishing technical advantages, was also designed to give us the capability to create the expressions of our souls: music, art, literature, poetry. No other animal in the Real World can do this. We alone stand and attempt to express out loud, what it means to be alive in the world. Staying too long at the fair, ignoring our connection to solid ground cheats this essential experience of being human. We need to lay aside at times what 'snaps, crackles and pops' and allow ourselves to find our ground, our center in the place of things. Spending time with ourselves, outside in the world around us, gives us wisdom, reduces anxiety and provides perspective. It doesn't have to be a safari to Africa. Just a quiet walk with the dog, lingering in the evening to take in the sky when we take the garbage out or noticing the sparkle of morning dew on the grass along the expressway as we drive in. All of it connects us to our ground, deepens our humanity and affirms our place. Moments like these enable us to realize at the end of the day what truly matters, and most of all, where we stand in the midst of it. That day I saw beneath dark clouds
the passing light over the water
and I hear the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things
seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years
of secret conversing
speaking out loud in the clear air.
It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.
David Whyte, The Opening of Eyes
