The Energy of Gratitude

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Late autumn, my favorite time of the year. The air is getting cooler, the leaves have turned and fallen, in some places there may even be the first dusting of snow. Everyone is taking a deep breath in anticipation of the busiest season – the Christmas holidays. Right there, slammed in between Halloween Christmas, comes Thanksgiving. Supposedly the time of year when to count our blessings. The real danger is finding ourselves lulled to sleep by the turkey or drifting into a diabetic coma by Grandma’s pecan pie. Much worse is the feeling of overwhelm in a house full of visiting relatives we never really liked anyway. In today’s world, how many of us truly use the time to give thanks? Continue reading “The Energy of Gratitude”

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A Vision of Clear Vision

Sometime in May of 2016, I began a quest for 20-20 eyesight. In conjunction with that, I started sun gazing and have worked my way up to 40 minutes. Although my eyes have a ways to go before I can flush my last pair of glasses, the speedy improvement to my vision has been astounding. Never mind feeding my lifelong addiction to sunlight.

In sixth grade, I complained about an inability to see the blackboard at school. Soon afterward, an opthamologist explained that my eyes were curved too much, or too little, or the wrong way or something. Apparently my eyes projected the incoming images onto the wrong section of my cornea. All I know is that I will never forget the day that I could see actual leaves on trees. It was glorious! Corrective lenses became a permanent part of my existence and have been for some forty years.

In 2003 an optometrist told me I was a candidate for retinal detachment. He began dilating my eyes every year and warning me to pay attention to floaters or bright flashes of light. I was living in Hawaii at the time – a place I would call “eye candy” for a completely different reason than the accepted use of that phrase. During the two and a half years I spent there, I could easily say that I witnessed a rainbow well beyond half of those 912 days. The exit from the H3 Tunnel offered a stunning view of Kaneohe Bay, but all I ever saw were the infinite shades of green and blue that comprised the color of the water. The sight never failed to take my breath away.  Once I was lost in Aiea. As I was making my way back to the main highway, there, directly over Pearl Harbor, I saw the most beautiful sunset ever. A flip phone is useless at capturing such beauty, so you will just have to settle for the Hawaiian sunset I did manage to photograph:

I met a lady with a detached retina in 2008. She basically lived with a large black spot in the center of her eyes. At all times. With no hope for change. The spot covered almost everything she looked at. She lost the ability to work, drive, or read. But to no longer be able to enjoy the sparkling blue eyes of my grandson … two red-throated hummingbirds fighting over territory … my daughter’s wry expressions … a window to Ireland … my son’s incredible talent … the crashing waves of the ocean beneath the rising sun of a new day … my daughter’s colorful clothing … autumn leaves, spring flowers, summer rain and winter white. I do not even want to imagine life without all of that. As a child, I sometimes played a game with a friend where one of us would pretend to be blind and the other, a guide. I never told her how much the idea of blindness terrified me.

Of my five senses, sight is the one that brings me the greatest joy. It is also the one I could least do without.

What the doctor in Hawaii failed to tell me is that corrective lenses were responsible for retinal detachment. And I am happy to note that since beginning this journey, I see virtually no floaters at all anymore. If you are interested in learning more about what myopia really is (and how to fix it) hop on over to Jake’s site and read the blogs. Not to be punny, but I found them quite eye opening.

My quest for clearer eyesight happened to coincide with my journey towards clearer insight as well. I have often wondered if the vision coming through my physical eyes could in any way be related to what I see with my spiritual one. The pictures I receive in my inner or third eye tend to be a bit blurry around the edges too. Could there be a connection, or does every clairvoyant “see through a glass dimly”?

There is no real way to tell, I think. It is certainly simpler on the physical plane. If a clear-sighted person wanted to see what the world looks like to me without glasses, they need only to put mine on. But finding out what anyone else sees through their third eye is beyond me. Perhaps on the day when I no longer need glasses, my question will be answered. Until then, I will continue my quest for 20-20 vision, all the while remembering to be thankful – so thankful – for the ability to see.

This blog was inspired by the November Sense-sational Blogging Challenge presented on the Litebeing Chronicles WordPress site. Hop on over and check it out! Oh, and please don’t forget the other contributors. The blog before mine was penned by Kristen on November 16. The next blog in the series will be published by Anupriya on November 20. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Season for Remembering

It is the first week of November and I am finally getting around to pulling out my winter clothes and putting all that is summer away. It seems kind of late in the year for that, but then, I am always thankful when the warmer weather hangs around a bit longer. No complaints here.

One of the items in my winter clothes box was the down vest I took from my sister’s closet last Christmas. I debated keeping it since it wouldn’t zip up at the time. Well, technically it zipped, but it was quite tight. A couple of months ago, I lost 10 pounds. Lo and behold, the vest fits me now! 

Today I laid the vest on the couch as I was getting ready to go to work. Within five minutes Ian found his way onto it. Only two days since it came out of the box and already my cat has reclaimed it. The suitcase it covered last winter has long been emptied and put away, but Ian managed to find his way back to the warmth of it. A bit surprising, actually, since he rarely climbs onto the couch to begin with. For him that vest is probably just a warm spot to cozy-up on, but I cannot help but wonder if my connection to her – my grief – is somehow being communicated to him through this piece of clothing. 

Ian kneaded the vest before settling into its folds, and I spent a few moments trying to imagine what my sister would say if she saw it. Of my three felines, Ian is both the most fearful and the most affectionate. My sister dealt with fear and anxiety a lot, and I would have to say that of all my family – including me – she loved the deepest. No, my sister wasn’t perfect, but she always strove to embrace others fully – flaws and all. A whole lot like my cat.

I hated removing Ian from the vest, but truth be told, I need it. Three weeks from yesterday marks the anniversary of the last week I spent with my sister. I am not sure that I will ever believe that time heals all wounds. Somehow time does have the power to diminish the pain. The empty space left in my heart by my sister’s absence is certainly still there. It always will be. I step into it often now. I talk to her there, like I used to. I may not be able to hear her respond, but I always feel her smile.

This month marks the beginning of a season to remember, yet the whole of the end of 2013 was a nightmare I would like to forget. On the cusp of the anniversary of those dark days, I am reminded to go further back in my memories to ponder the good and the bad, to the plethora of shared experiences with my sister. Maybe instead of a season of grief, this winter will turn into one of thanksgiving for the blessing of 50 years with her in my life. If I’m lucky, I’ll remember to appreciate the loved ones who remain, while they’re still with me. Maybe that’s what memories of the ones we lose are really for.

The windy fall has brought the neighborhood hawks out in droves. I see one almost every day now. And whether it’s her visiting me or not is irrelevant. They remind me of her, just like the vest. So, Ian, while I won’t give it over to you completely, I am willing to share. You can enjoy its warmth and the interesting fabric against your kneading paws. I will remember the one who wore it for a time, because in the end, I don’t need the vest, just the comfort it brings. A whole lot like my cat.