Seeing Through Spiritual Eyes

Occasionally, I have a dream that seems so bizarre and significant that the smoke of it clings to me long after I awake. A dream so vivid in imagery or symbolism that I can step right back into it again at anytime with a flip of the memory switch. These are often the dreams my husband declares that I should never, ever share with anyone. "Trust me," he says, "I've got enough material to put you away." All I have to tell the judge is, "But I'm a writer. Dreams are our inspirations, fodder for characters and plot twists no matter how stranger." And I feel confident I'll get off. Of course, he does have plenty of other material to work with. But I'm not a pretender. The world hear's me talk about what a blessed mess I am and I mean it. Back to the story at hand.

In one such dream of what I would consider signifcance, I was walking around without my head. Yes, that's what I said. Me. Walking. Headless. And it wasn't a costume party. Furthermore, I was walking up to strangers and saying, "Do you know why I can still see you without a head?" as I pointed to the vacant area where one would assume a head used to be, "Because I'm looking at you through spiritual eyes." And I continued accosting strangers large and small, one and all, with this question followed by the same declaration. Then I opened my very, real eyes in my tired head and stared at the ceiling.

That dream took place years ago, and long before I embarked on my resolution to say a silent prayer for a stranger everyday which turned into a book and led to me writing this blog. When I consider it now, I nod in understanding whether anyone is looking at me or not. I get it. And much of what I've been doing this past two and half years is looking at people through spiritual eyes.

This morning a reader, Tracy Herbert, wrote me a great note and later sent me this photo she took of a boy hugging his dog. She explained that she is an amateur photographer but loves to capture the beauty of a moment. My friends who take pictures for a profession or a hobby don't just look at the world like many of us on a given, busy day. They look through their spiritual eyes below the surface of apperences into what lies deep and true beneath and beyond. My writer friends do the same thing in a different way. Slicing away layer upon layer of preconceived notions, and old dogma to illuminate through story what is eternal and significant. Tracy's photo captured a teen she had been watching who appeared troubled and vexed by something but the comfort he gets from hugging his dog, powerful and moving.

The best of all literature, art, and creative endeavors achieve this to me always. Finding that shadow of the Divine, casting it in such a light that we can all see for a moment, catch our breath and say, "Yes, now I see." But this ability isn't limited to Harper Lee or Kathleen Norris, or Anne Lamont. It's not limited to the Michaelangelo's of this world. This incredible gift is part of the spiritual DNA of being human. And we have to work at losing it. We have to grow up, become jaded, and close our eyes. Beginning to see again is as simple as opening them wide and seeing from a different perspective. Or, perhaps walking around headless but I'll vote for the former.

This day, this moment, we can choose to open our eyes to the spiritual beauty of the world and to behold those around us as they really are in all their broken glory. It's a gift to be able to do so, but it's also a decision.