In the eyes

The eyes are amazing things. I have always been drawn to them. Eyes are paintings of the soul. The face, the body, the voice can be honed and used to disguise the soul, but not eyes. They belie what people try to conceal.

Eyes speak tales of love, of sorrow, of joy and pain. Eyes are storytellers of the heart. They tell what the mouth can not.

Eyes see the movements of the world. They lap up the broth of the night sky. They bloom in sunlight. Eyes may find beauty wherever they may be allowed to roam and rest.

Rightly, eyes may be called the best friends of writers. They gather the slopes of a watermelon, ski its jade lines, venture into its desert. Eyes gather what is and pit it against what our mind dreams.

Let our eyes see light in the midst of darkness. A flame under the water. An elephant where a dog stands.

But let us also see the darkness. The water. The dog.

Let us set our eyes on wondrous things. Let us let them rest not merely on technology and screens, but on faces, on nature. Let us not just look but see. See the world not only as it is, but as it may be. See people not only as they are, but as they might be, as God sees them.


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