THE BLINK OF AN EYE – And the Curse of Panception

You know those optical sleights of hand where you have to look at an image in a different way in order to spot the cryptic subject? Then, once you’ve seen it, you can’t not see it?

That’s the way many of life’s small wonders embed themselves in one’s consciousness. Things so elusive at first that they get lost in the surrounding noise—or so commonplace as to become invisible simply for their omnipresence. Like one’s own heartbeat or the muted tapping of fingers on computer keyboards.

Well, I’ve discovered another of these riveting minutiae: eye blinking. 

It was during an interview I recently watched on TV. I probably should have been listening to the dialog, but no, I had to notice the eyes. Turns out the guest blinked hers occasionally—maybe once every five or six seconds. But the host batted his eyes at about three times that rate—like every one to two seconds.

Now I suppose we could debate what accounted for the difference. But that’s not the point. The point is that now I can’t see, or hear…or smell anything but blinking. My God, what if I start obsessing about my own blinkin’ eyes?

I guess it’s just the curse of being what I call a panceptive. You notice everything, even stuff you might wish you hadn’t. A deal with the devil.

Is it worth it? Well, I’m overstating the price of panception just a little. So, attempts at humor aside, of course it’s worth it. Keep your eyes peeled, pay attention, be curious, expect wonder…

…and don’t blink.

   “In the concert of life, are you tuned in to the musicians? To the
     conductor? Perhaps it's the music, taking you far away.
     All that presence asks is that, wherever experience takes you, that's
     where you go—fully, gladly and all the way.”      
        FROM UNDER THE WILD GINGER – A SIMPLE GUIDE TO THE WISDOM OF WONDER
        BY JEFFREY D. WILLIUS

SELF-DRIVING CARS – And Other Collisions With Consciousness

I don't know about you, but I’ve never been able to read a book outdoors. It’s like, okay, here I am, worshiping in the sacred temple of deep woods. So I think I’ll just tune that out, escape to Manhattan and engage in some sexy shenanigans with Eva and Gidean.

What?

      These days folks walk around with their 
      thoughts as far away from the here and now 
      as a gasp of wonder is from a yawn.

The advent of iPads and smart phones has not helped. These days folks walk around—not just in the woods or mountains, at the beach or on the water, but anywhere at all—with their heads down, their thoughts as far away from the here and now as a gasp of wonder is from a yawn.

A HARD BARGAIN
Don’t get me wrong; I’m no Luddite. Technology is amazing. The irony that I'm here every day, urging moderation in the use of the very same media I employ to air that message is not lost on me.

But the key word there is moderation. It’s one thing to break up a long road trip by letting the kids play a video game or watch a movie in the back seat; it’s another to let them arrive at your destination utterly clueless as to the characters, landscapes and happenings they’ve passed along the way—not to mention the goings-on inside the car.

So, back to the progression of technology at the expense of consciousness. We are now very close to seeing the mass marketing of a driver-less car. Aside from the obvious concerns about safety, how might this hasten the already-alarming atrophy of human awareness, curiosity and wonder? Could it further deepen our separation from Nature?

I’ve discussed this with my wife, who’s a fierce advocate of technology. She points out that with no need for drivers or passengers to keep their eyes on the road, the robotic car might actually increase one's ability to enjoy the scenery. But I’m not buyin’ it. My money's on most folks turning to their iToys or laptops, or even—now here’s a quaint notion—reading the newspaper.

    Anyone else find it sad that the only way this 
    new concept of transportation will transport 
    you is from point A to point B?

A PERFECT SYMBIOSIS?
I was going to say we’ll know I’m right when car makers start touting the obsolescence of windows. But that evidence is already old news. In the May 15, 2015 issue of the Atlantic, the article “Why Driverless Cars Don’t Need Windows” (excerpted from author Peter Waymer’s book Future Ride) paints what seems to me a grim, dystopian picture:

 “Daimler doesn't seem to think the passengers will spend much time actually looking out (of windows). Photos from the company emphasize the way that four passengers can sit facing each other, talking, working or playing games, all while ignoring the outside world.” (Anyone else find it sad that the only way this new concept of transportation will transport you is from point A to point B?)

“Daimler sees the car of the future as a ‘digital living space’ that provides ‘a perfect symbiosis of the virtual and the real world.’” (And what part of this would you describe as the “real world?”)

 “The sentimental among us may still choose windows out of nostalgia, but... accountants will flinch at extra costs and almost certainly grow to see windows as an extra expense that breaks too easily and adds too much to the air-conditioning bill.” (I'll tell you what breaks too easily: the human spirit when we allow others to decide what is and what isn't worth looking at.)

     Call me old-fashioned, but I’m going to fight 
     for the right to look out...at the real world.

KEEPING YOUR HEAD DOWN
Might those bean counters someday reach the same visionless conclusion about other vehicles? Trains? Airplanes? How about our homes?

And might we human beings, besides our already-predicted evolution toward bigger eyes, wider butts and longer fingers, eventually transform into so many forward-slumping, nearsighted moles, incapable, any more, of looking up or out
at anything?

What do you think? Are you ready for a windowless world? Not me! Call me old-fashioned, but I’m going to fight for the right to look up and out—whether I’m walking or riding or flying...or just sitting in those deep woods—at the genuine, perfectly beautiful, first-hand miracles of the real world.

INTENTIONAL AWARENESS - Seeing As a Contact Sport

As I was walking this afternoon down by the flood-swollen Mississippi River, I happened to notice one tree among many others just off the path. There was something hanging from one of its lower branches. I went over to look more closely.

Wrapped loosely around the base of the branch was some string. Tied in it every inch or so was a little clump of fabric wadded from torn strips, alternating in color between dusty shades of rose, gray and yellow. Just above this odd necklace a three-inch-wide tin band wrapped neatly around the branch. I carefully turned the band back and forth to read the neat, press-on lettering that wrapped around it in three lines:

  "They are the roots;
    We are the fruits
    So that others may grow."

Was this someone's environmental art installation? A tribute or memorial of some kind? Whatever it was, I found it sweet and touching, and identified with the artist's putting something out there for anyone—or no one—to see and judge. I wondered how many people had noticed and taken the time to consider it.

          Sometimes awareness turns insistent...
          a capacity with which you purposely
          set out to find meaning.

For a second, I stepped back from my reverie and looked around at the bigger picture: the steep slopes of the river valley, shouldering the stocky red brick buildings of the University of Minnesota Medical Center; the gray, wrinkled fingers of a thousand still-bare trees pointing every which way; students drifting in slow motion through their tai chi on the field below; on the path, a young couple delighting in their baby's tottering steps; and, in the background, the surging Mississippi, affecting all with its certainty.

There was so much that could have caught my eye, and yet here I was, drawn in by this quiet, quirky little assertion.

How do you choose what you pay attention to, what stirs you to wonder? It's not always just the biggest, the fastest, the brightest, the loudest that reaches out and grabs us, is it? Don't you find, as I do, that sometimes awareness turns insistent, becoming a more proactive sense, a capacity with which you purposely set out to find meaning?

I've made it my life's work observing wonder. And part of that is observing people observing wonder. Some clearly don't have time for it. Others manage to make time and space for wonder, but play a sort of waiting game. There's certainly nothing wrong with this kind of reactive attention; the openness and patience it requires are the core values of awareness, and they're often rewarded.

        Instead of waiting for wonder to happen
        to you, you expect it. You look for it. In a
        way, you create it.

 
But then there's a more intentional form of awareness. It's a blade alloyed of openness, patience and wonder, then honed to a fine edge by a spirit of inquiry. Instead of waiting for wonder to happen to you, you expect it. You look for it. In a way, you create it. Sometimes I refer to this capacity as "seeing generously," which means your vision is no longer just a one-way process of taking things in. It becomes a transaction, for you also give something of yourself to the deal, investing your interest, your expectation, your faith.

It's the difference between simply noticing a stranger entering the room, and studying her. You might wonder why she's there. Maybe you keep watching to see where she goes or whom she meets. You examine her expression and body language for clues about what kind of a day she's having or what kind of person she is. Perhaps you're curious to meet her. All of this while other more obvious things are going on in the room all around you.

    I don't think the connection would have
    been made if I hadn't been reaching out too.

So why did I happen to notice, among all the other things going on, that curious little art piece on the tree limb? Why did it catch my eye, engage my curiosity? Surely it reached out to me in some way, but I don't think the connection would have been made if I hadn't been reaching out too.

I can't prove that we intentional observers actually see more than reactive ones, but I know there's a difference. Perhaps it's just that we see different things…or in different ways. What do you think? When you invest like this in the way you see, how does it affect what you see?

Next time you're out walking, see if you can dial up your passive awareness to the next level. Look at the subtle, quiet things and find meaning. Look intentionally. See generously. Expect wonder!

…and let me know how it goes!

“You can ask the universe for signs all you want, but ultimately, we only see what we want to see, when we are ready to see it.”
  TED MOSBY (TV character, How I Met Your Mother)

CHOOSE! – Paying Attention in a Fragmented World

The other day, in a story about returning Google CEO Larry Page, NPR reporter Laura Sydell was interviewing Ken Auletta, author of "Googled: The End of the World As We Know It," about Page's notorious lack of social skills. 

Barry Diller

Auletta recalled the first time Page met media mogul Barry Diller. The whole time Diller was trying to talk, Page was looking down, typing away on his PDA. Diller called him on it. "Larry, I'm trying to talk. Can you just converse with me?" Page replied, "It's OK, Barry, I can do both. I can look at this device and talk to you." Diller insisted: "No, no, Larry, choose!" Page, eyes still on his PDA, replied, "I choose this."

Wow! At least the guy knows his priorities.

We all encounter this kind of choice every day. In fact, with the horde of communications gadgets and media chasing us around, the assault, for some poor souls, is nearly constant. So what's wrong with that?

If there's one piece of advice I'd give to anyone who wants to be more aware, curious and appreciative, it's this: do one thing at a time and do it all the way.

As little as some people seem to appreciate it, choosing one thing means not choosing something else. If you go for a walk while you're on the phone, either you're paying attention to the call or you're noticing what's going on around you. Not both. Okay, maybe you can go back and forth—a sort of serial awareness—but that still only puts you 50 percent in touch with either pursuit.

It doesn't matter what you're doing; if you subscribe to the multi-tasking myth, you're missing more than you may know. You're squandering creative inspirations. You're failing to get to know people at more than a superficial level. You're putting yourself beyond the reach of those little instincts that guide us now and then. You're looking right past a world of little miracles playing out all around you.

Do you want to truly experience such rich experiences or will you settle for their being just background music for what you're really doing?

If there's one piece of advice I'd give to anyone who wants to be more aware, curious and appreciative, it's this: do one thing at a time and do it all the way. That's what wonder is all about, being present, allowing yourself to be fully in the moment with whatever it is you're doing.

That, my friends, is the modest price of admission to a world of wonder.