A GRACE IN THE CROWD – Revisiting My “Aura Fixation”

The grade school concert was more of an obligation than a choice. You know, our friends’ kid was singing.

It was a pretty typical display of talents for that age group. A few kids could sing; most couldn’t; a few didn’t. (But, of course, talent wasn’t the point.)

By the end of the second number, I’d spotted her. A girl in the third row. She was far from the best looking of the kids on stage. I don’t know if she was an especially good singer. But there was something about her.

I was enjoying whole show—the expressions on the singers’ faces, the nervous, distracted body language—but my eye kept going back to that girl in the third row.  
What was it about her, I asked myself. For one thing, she was about the only kid smiling. That told me she liked singing, maybe even enjoyed having an audience. (Or her mom was an ex-beauty pageant contestant who’d drilled the smile thing into her.)

There were subtler graces too: at one point, between numbers, she turned and said something to the nervous looking boy next to her. Maybe a word of encouragement.

I couldn’t single out the girl’s voice from the rest, but I knew that if singing turned out to be something she pursued—or whatever else, for that matter—she’d be successful at it.

      It was like watching the one student in a
      classroom who clearly gets the assignment.

THE EYES HAVE IT
Recently, Sally and I went to see Ain’t Too Proud, the fabulous musical about the life and times of the Temptations. The stage was full of performers—singers, dancers and actors—who were quite obviously the cream of the crop.

Even though the talent level was major league, there was still one performer who caught my fancy. He wasn’t the lead, just one of a number of characters who orbited the Temps’ inveterate leader.

Actor/singer Jalen Harris

But there were several things that kept my eyes coming back to him. First, his stunning eyes (I could see them pretty well since we were seated in the second row). Unlike the vast majority of African Americans, his are blue. And his connection with the audience, more than looking at some vague spot above our heads, was compelling. He actually made eye contact with folks, and, to the delight of the four young women sitting right in front of us, winked at them.

Mr. Blue Eyes also happened to be the best dancer—and the Temptations, like no other group ever, could dance. That, along with that electrifying, azure gaze, was so commanding that I almost wished I hadn’t noticed.

BATTING, AVERAGE
It was somewhere between T-ball and little league, just a kids’, parks-and-rec baseball game. This time Sally’s son, Matt, was the draw.

Of all those ten-year-old boys, half of them looked to be in over their heads with either the batting, the catching or the running…or all three. Nonetheless, I cheered Matt’s every move.

But once again there was this one boy on the other team I couldn’t help watching. More than just his obvious athletic skills—clearly a couple of levels more advanced than the others—it was his countenance, a grace in the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to perceive the world around him. 

You could tell by watching the other boys’—even the coaches’—reactions to him that he was a natural leader. Like the one student in a classroom who clearly gets the assignment.

AURA FIXATIONS
So, I’ve experienced this minor obsession with one person in a group countless times, in every imaginable setting, from busy street corners, to ballet performances, to riding a “chicken bus” in rural Guerrero, Mexico. One person I just can’t keep my eyes off of.

What does this say about me, I wonder. Does everyone suffer this affliction? Is it just a quirk of human nature or something particular to the way I observe the world? Does it border on the creepy?

Do graces in the crowd captivate you? We’d love to hear of your experience in “Comments.”

I’m sure I’ll keep spotting these beautiful people, the ones with the auras. I don’t think I can help it. But wouldn’t it be something if one of these days, while looking for some new face in the crowd, I should spot someone who can’t keep their eyes off of me? I won’t hold my breath…

OFF COLOR - Dirty Words About a Gray Minnesota Winter

I’ve been trying to be more appreciative. Too often, I find my view of the here-and-now obscured by inconsequential thoughts and concerns, or just the mindlessness of rote behavior. So, instead of that mental to-do list held up in front of my mind’s eye, instead of that subconscious autopilot that so often steers my motions, I’m changing the script.

I seize on something that catches my eye—or ear…or nose—and, while holding off competing thoughts, very deliberately think about its wondrous qualities. It’s a little like focusing on one’s breathing while settling into a meditation.

 This building has a nice patch of red, which this 
 morning, against a precious robin’s-egg-blue sky, 
 I decided to take as a gift.

CLEARING THE FOG
This morning it was a building, just an ordinary building, one of the scores of new luxury apartment and condo buildings popping up here around the University of Minnesota East Bank campus over the past few years.

Most of these structures—in fact, most of the buildings in our part of the country—are quite obviously designed for gain over grace, doing little, esthetically, but take up space. But this one has a couple of nice patches of red, which this morning, against a precious robin’s-egg-blue sky, I decided to take as a gift.

PHOTO: Metro Park East Apartments

I treasuring the gift for a few seconds, imagining I’d just experienced color for the first time. For that brief interval, I’d managed to clear away the fog of busy-ness and appreciate that color—that clear, intense cardinal red—as the miracle it is.

What a wonder that color exists at all, its raison d'être solely the fact that most of us creatures with eyes can see it, perhaps draw some meaning from it and, if we’re lucky enough to be human, describe it.

NOT ALL WHO HAVE EYES...
Contrary to popular myth, nearly every species of animal can distinguish some degree of color variation. Even most nocturnal creatures (including dogs and cats—categorized as such for their original waking/sleeping cycles) can make out some colors, though far fewer than we humans and other diurnal animals.

But there do exist a very few animals, including some nocturnal rodents, most sharks and a related fish called a skate, which most marine biologists believe see only in shades of gray. (These animals might just love Minnesota’s more typical ashen winter days!)

There are some human beings who can’t see colors. I guess you could say it’s fortunate that the vast majority of these monochromats are born with the condition. Imagine being robbed of color after you’ve already experienced it.

Anyway, just knowing this—that not everyone enjoys the wonder of color—makes me notice and appreciate it even more. I’ve touched on this often in my writings, sometimes analogizing color to a kind of rich, savory food that nourishes my eyes, my heart and my spirit.

      By 4:30 we just hunker down and live 
      with the pangs of our deprivation.

TAKE A TEAL AND A MAGENTA AND CALL ME IN THE MORNING
Here in east central Minnesota, my wife and I feel the hunger building each year by late November. Trees denuded, shriveled to gray stick figures; grass sapped of green, then smothered in white. And it just gets worse. By mid-December any thin wash of color that does remain gets swallowed in darkness by 4:30. We just hunker down and live with the pangs of our deprivation.

(Yes, I’ve been known to preach here about how much color there is to be found in our winter landscapes if one really looks. (The Colors We Bring) But, truth be told, we just get weary of having to try so hard.) 

PHOTO: WSAW News, Wasau WI

We know there are nutritionists who'd prescribe a diet of southern California or Florida for what ails us, but we don’t trust them. Not enough quality control in the kitchens that fix this fare; too often it loses its potency to some tropical depression or continental-scale polar vortex.

No, we’ve found the best, most reliable color diet in Mexico—specifically, in Zihuatanejo, Guerrero, on the Pacific coast just north of Acapulco. There, the color is fresh off the tree, still warm from the sunny vineyard. Leaves stay green and flowers bloom all the time.

Folks in Mexico aren’t content with a little dab of red on a building. They paint their houses colors that would be, you know, frowned on in Minnesota. When you think of it, all they're doing is mirroring Nature. The sea, the critters, the plants, the arts and crafts, people's skin…oh, and yes, the food, all feed us, sustain us with their colors.

Every precious day we’re there in Zihuatanejo we watch it, walk through it, bathe in it, just sit there in awe of it. We eat it up...and then keep going back for seconds.

LOST LANDSCAPES

When I converse with Nature, just as when I converse with people, perspective is everything. Close up, I can see the pores and the warts; far away, details start to blend together, and the subject becomes shape, pattern and movement.

Perhaps this is why I so appreciate a beautiful landscape. Both broad and deep in its scope, the view rolls out in a seamless progression of receding layers all the way to the horizon…and beyond. It always fills me with wonder and gratitude.

But something's been happening to our landscapes, something that's occurred in just the last generation or two. Fewer and fewer of us—most glaringly, fewer of those under thirty—seem able to find one any more. Part of it is that such unbroken stretches of unspoiled land are disappearing. If a housing development hasn't obliterated the view altogether, a highway, power line or cell phone tower stains it.

But as I so often preach, seeing is a two-way street. It doesn't have to do with just the quality of what's being looked it; it also has to do with the looker. And that we can do something about.

   These mental eyesores are about as unwelcome 
   as a frac sand mine in Eden.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
A panorama might have all the qualities you could ever want in a vista—all those sublime strata of terrain, foliage and sky, unmarred by any trace of man's meddling. Maybe a lake or river graces the scene. If you're lucky, a tired sun pours that last, precious, liquid-gold light over hill and dale.

As ideal as it sounds, that picture can still be marred. This time, though, the defacement occurs at the other end of the exchange—in the eye of the beholder. The rude blurting of my cell phone blocks my view; cynicism slashes the canvas; concerns with time or responsibility dog-ear the corners.

Whatever the culprit, these mental eyesores are about as unwelcome as a frac sand mine in Eden.

Think of it as one's state of mind being his or her internal landscape. I see more, reflect more, learn more when that inner view spreads out all around me as if I stood atop a mountain. And anything that spoils that sensual, spiritual space ruins not just my mental outlook but my woods-and-rocks-and-waters view as well.

It all comes down to my belief that we see pretty much what we want to see.

   The view starts deep in my soul and extends, 
   simultaneously, to both earth’s horizon and  
   that of my deepest internal knowing.

To understand this in the context of my pantheistic view of the world, it helps if I see the inner and outer views as one entity, one continuous vista that starts deep in my soul and extends, simultaneously, to both earth’s horizon and that of my deepest internal knowing.

WHAT'S YOUR VIEW?
Where does your outer landscape end and your inner one begin? Are you aware of how they overlap? Can you feel your ability to appreciate the view improve when you clear your mind and spirit of distractions? How do you do that?

WHAT GORILLA? – The Power and Peril of Focus

Imagine someone holding up an item, something very large and very tangible, right in front of your eyes. Can you imagine any way they could do it so you wouldn’t even notice it?

This is the sort of challenge put to me and other viewers of a TV news magazine segment some years ago. Hey, I thought, I’m a really good observer. In fact, I've been in the business of noticing and controlling visual details. Let's see ‘em try to fool me!

The demonstration began with a short piece of video. Viewers were asked to closely observe a group of six people in a small room passing around two basketballs. Three of the people wore black shirts; the other three, white shirts. The charge to viewers was to count the number of times any white-shirted person passed a ball to anyone else.

     Hey, I thought, I’m a really good observer...
     Let's see ‘em try to fool me!

      

IN AND OUT OF THE TUNNEL
The people started moving around, turning and intermingling, all the while passing, catching and dribbling the balls. After about 30 seconds, they and the video clip stopped. No problem, I thought. I was sure I hadn't  fallen for a single one of those black-shirts’ passes. Yes sir, I saw right through that and all their other tricks to distract me! Fifteen passes*—no doubt about it.

The host promised to give the correct answer, but first he begged our indulgence. He’d show the same film clip again, only this time he instructed viewers not to focus on anything in particular. "Just take in the whole scene," he instructed. Okay, I’m thinking, maybe I did miss a pass or two.

Again the video rolls. The people start passing balls and milling around. It’s obviously the exact same clip. Halfway through the scene, though, a person in a gorilla suit emerges stage left, walks deliberately into the middle of the group, stops, faces the camera, outrageously beats his chest with both arms and then walks out of the scene stage right.

Huh?!!

INATTENTIONAL BLINDNESS
The film is part of an exercise developed by Daniel Simons, a Harvard psychologist who's studying blind spots—our failure to notice presumably obvious things when our thoughts (though not necessarily our vision) are focused elsewhere. He calls it inattentional blindness. He suggests that such a phenomenon might explain a number of otherwise baffling accidents, including one several years before in which a U.S. submarine collided with a Japanese fishing trawler, even though the latter was in plain sight of the sub.

Simons's research showed that more than half of subjects do not notice the gorilla in their first viewing of the film. I’d have bet the farm that I’d be in the other half. I would have lost.

      In this visual black hole, I always sail right
      past our exit, and God knows what else.

Come to think of it, I know from my own experience that this kind of blind spot can happen, not just when visual stimuli compete, but also when the other senses are involved. Just ask my wife. Now I know I’m about the farthest thing there could possibly be from a multi-tasker. So, with much “coaching” over the years, I’ve learned that when she and I are talking I need to really pay attention to what she’s saying.

      

Occasionally, this has proven a problem when we’re headed somewhere in the car and I’m also trying to navigate. Apparently, the way my mind deals with serious listening is to turn off all my other senses. In this visual black hole, I always sail right past our exit, and God knows what else. When I think about it, that’s pretty scary. I’m just glad I haven’t missed any “Bridge Out!” signs!

Do these events show how powerful our senses can be when narrowly focused, or how fickle they are when they’re not?

Do these events show how powerful our senses can be when narrowly focused, or how fickle they are when they’re not? If it’s power, it can surely be harnessed for a great deal of good. (Think medical research, the arts or even hypnosis.) Or it can be used for evil. (Think bait-and-switch scams or governments fostering fear to divert attention from their abuses.)

Either way, the lesson is, while appreciating our senses and our minds for all they can do, we can ill afford not be aware of their limitations.

* The correct answer for the number of basketball passes was 15. 
Some consolation!

For more about inattentional blindness here's a link to Simons's book on the topic, The Invisible Gorilla.

BETCHA CAN'T FIND… – A Simple Game of Observation

Starting when my kids were about three and four years old, they'd spend their summers with me. I did my best to keep them busy learning and having fun. While I worked, they were in summer art programs, at day camp or with friends whose parents were around during the day. Evenings and weekends we also had lots of fun, but sometimes we’d find ourselves with some time to kill—sitting at the laundromat, on long trips in the car, or waiting for Grandma.

 

To make the best of that time, we invented a simple game of observation. It usually works best outdoors, but it can be fun indoors too. The more varied and cluttered the view, the better. I don’t think we ever named it, but, after playing it once, all I had to do to declare the game underway was to say “I’ll bet you…can’t…find a…," and fill in the blank with the name of any object I knew we could all see. I’d always say the words very slowly, sort of dramatically, which became their cue to dial up their sharpest eyes.

 In order to challenge them for more than a few seconds, I had to find more and more minute details.

Sounds pretty simple, right? Well, at first it was. But my kids proved so good at it that, in order to challenge them for more than a few seconds, I had to find more and more minute details or things that were visible only intermittently (like a waving flag that showed between two buildings only when billowed by the wind).
Since the object was for one sibling to find the object before the other, it became an exercise very much like speed reading—scanning a visual “lexicon” for that one key “word.”

...it takes a little time, which, after all...is the greatest gift we can give our loved ones…and ourselves.

Like anything so wonderfully simple, I’m sure this game wasn’t our exclusive invention. There could be any number of variations; any format will do. The key is to use one’s sight like a laser to cut through the flashy, loud, obnoxious foreground layer that so often clambers for our attention, and see some of the other layers of rich detail life lavishes on us.

The beauty of Bet You Can’t Find… is that the only equipment you need is your eyes, something those of us lucky enough to have good vision take with us wherever we go. And, of course, it takes a little time, which, after all—one of the main points of One Man's Wonder—is the greatest gift we can give our loved ones…and ourselves.

FOLLOW A SWALLOW

I’d watched barn swallows many times before, mostly around my family’s summer home on the St. Croix River. Each spring they’d build their mud nests under the eaves of our back porch. If we even tried going in that door, they’d fearlessly dive-bomb us, trying, I’m sure, to make us think twice about getting that close to their chicks. All those times, I guess I was too busy ducking and dodging to really appreciate these handsome birds.

Years later I was standing on a dock at St. Paul’s Lake Como unloading my canoe after an afternoon of fishing. People were gathering on shore for a concert in the nearby pavilion. Five or six barn swallows traced broad, interwoven circles just off the end of the dock, occasionally dipping nearly to the water. What elegant creatures, I thought, remembering my previous experiences with swallows and appreciating that, this time, they seemed to be minding their own business.

                    Suddenly, the feathered missile 
            came barreling right at my head.

I stopped and just observed the sleek, blue-black and chestnut-colored birds. How perfectly sculpted for speed and the sudden swerves necessary to catch flying insects. It was fun just watching their acrobatics, but I also was curious. Where do they live? Do they have chicks? Are they consuming their prey on the fly or taking it home to feed the family?

To find the answers, I changed my focus a little. Instead of taking in the whole group’s complex, swirling dance, I decided to follow just one bird and see what it would do. Fortunately, with only a few birds in the area, this wasn't hard to do. As my subject plied the air, veering, climbing, swooping to skim the surface of the water, I wondered how many insects it tried for and missed before catching one.

Suddenly, the feathered missile veered out of its orbit and came barreling right at my head. In the split second before I reflexively ducked, I spotted a large fly—or maybe it was a flying ant—hanging out of its beak. Then, just as I went down, the bird swooped and flew directly under my feet—in fact, under the dock. Wow, that’s a stunt, I thought, wheeling around to see it come out the other side. It didn’t.

Ta-dah! All three questions answered: The swallow’s nest was under the dock, it had chicks and, yes, it brought insects home for them.

            What interesting things have you learned 
            about swallows? Tell us about your experiences!

HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – 101 Little Tips

 TIP #85

Don't miss the trees for the forest.

Ten thousand sardines turn as one organism. Leaf-cutter ants pour like a river afloat with tiny, green-sailed ships across the jungle floor.

Wonder en masse. But pick just one individual and watch it closely. See why life's so much closer to the edge for the one than for the whole.