quiet eyes
I'm not usually the kind of person that spends a lot of time in front of the mirror. This morning was different...
Beneath the surface there are many layers. Things piling up so tall they conceal the very heart of something. They hide meaning.
We all know it. We feel it.
Our bodies become vessels of stories. Carriers of secrets and dreams, desires and problems. Day to day, month by month, you'd think the sheer troubling load of life would sneak out from under you and scream to all those standing in the line at the coffee shop, "Hey! Look at me! You wanna know who I am!?"
And at the end of every day, as sleep creeps upon us, we drift into what once was called Never Never Land, but now feels more like a forest so thick, even the best analyzing via- staring at the ceiling - can't lead you out.
This morning though, the moment at the mirror lasted longer...
You know there is a leak in this vessel. A crack in the belly of this boat carrying my hopes and dreams, my problems.
It's the eyes...
The half inch below your forehead and above your cheek bones. There it is. The one place the layers can't reach. The only part of my entire life that lay exposed for anyone to truly see if they'll just look close enough. The eyes. Someone called it the "windows to the soul." You see, when you first realize this, you can't turn away. What usually is a quick trip to the mirror has suddenly become an hour of introspection.
What do my eyes reveal? When people look at me, what do they see? How come the layers, the whatever, the stuff, how come they can't reach the eyes!? It's just a little further!
When others look, what do they see? Do they see happiness? Anxiety? Peace? Do they say things like trust and faith, or "don't worry, I'm here"?
Do these eyes show heartache or disappointment? Hope... love? Are these eyes so open, so clear that even the youngest child could stare me down and know me through and through?
Can broken eyes laugh as Ryan Adams sings? Maybe the eyes do hold everything Peter Gabriel says, "the light, the heat...the doorway to a thousand churches, in your eyes, I want to touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes" Can such small things hold so much?
What do my eyes hold, what do they say?
God I hope they say, "grace". I hope they can say the words,
"I love you". Please God let them smile... can you smile with your eyes? I want to smile with my eyes.
There's so much going on inside, and standing here, staring at this mirror, I can't believe how much I'm saying without even speaking. Do I always talk this much? Are my eyes always this loud?
And thats when I prayed, "God, give me quiet eyes". Not to conceal, but to love. Not to withhold, but to receive. To smile so delicately, someone knows you care.
God, may my eyes say, "grace"... please...can they say,
"I love you".
Beneath the surface there are many layers. Things piling up so tall they conceal the very heart of something. They hide meaning.
We all know it. We feel it.
Our bodies become vessels of stories. Carriers of secrets and dreams, desires and problems. Day to day, month by month, you'd think the sheer troubling load of life would sneak out from under you and scream to all those standing in the line at the coffee shop, "Hey! Look at me! You wanna know who I am!?"
And at the end of every day, as sleep creeps upon us, we drift into what once was called Never Never Land, but now feels more like a forest so thick, even the best analyzing via- staring at the ceiling - can't lead you out.
This morning though, the moment at the mirror lasted longer...
You know there is a leak in this vessel. A crack in the belly of this boat carrying my hopes and dreams, my problems.
It's the eyes...
The half inch below your forehead and above your cheek bones. There it is. The one place the layers can't reach. The only part of my entire life that lay exposed for anyone to truly see if they'll just look close enough. The eyes. Someone called it the "windows to the soul." You see, when you first realize this, you can't turn away. What usually is a quick trip to the mirror has suddenly become an hour of introspection.
What do my eyes reveal? When people look at me, what do they see? How come the layers, the whatever, the stuff, how come they can't reach the eyes!? It's just a little further!
When others look, what do they see? Do they see happiness? Anxiety? Peace? Do they say things like trust and faith, or "don't worry, I'm here"?
Do these eyes show heartache or disappointment? Hope... love? Are these eyes so open, so clear that even the youngest child could stare me down and know me through and through?
Can broken eyes laugh as Ryan Adams sings? Maybe the eyes do hold everything Peter Gabriel says, "the light, the heat...the doorway to a thousand churches, in your eyes, I want to touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes" Can such small things hold so much?
What do my eyes hold, what do they say?
God I hope they say, "grace". I hope they can say the words,
"I love you". Please God let them smile... can you smile with your eyes? I want to smile with my eyes.
There's so much going on inside, and standing here, staring at this mirror, I can't believe how much I'm saying without even speaking. Do I always talk this much? Are my eyes always this loud?
And thats when I prayed, "God, give me quiet eyes". Not to conceal, but to love. Not to withhold, but to receive. To smile so delicately, someone knows you care.
God, may my eyes say, "grace"... please...can they say,
"I love you".
posted by Philip Letizia at
10:24 PM
1 Comments:
I was told I had quiet eyes, and I have been searching the phrase to pretty much figure out what it means. After reading the poem "He had such Quiet Eyes," I felt terrible that my eyes were not transparent, but seen as mysterious or deceiving.
I read this blog and once you wrote, "And thats when I prayed, "God, give me quiet eyes". Not to conceal, but to love. Not to withhold, but to receive. To smile so delicately, someone knows you care." It made me grateful that I had quiet eyes. :)
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Anonymous, At
10:16 AM
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