Fresh Eyes

We spent the past 4 days visiting my vaccinated parents in Florida. Moving through Logan Airport, I kept saying to myself, ‘Look at all these people.’ Like adjusting to a dark room abruptly lit, I walked slowly to allow my senses time to adjust. Plugged into the buzzing current around me, I was mesmerized by my fellow humans. I wondered about their experience over the past year: did she lose a loved one to the virus; do they work on the front lines; is he fearful of the police; what keeps her awake at night; are they on vacation too; are they nervous to be among all these people? I felt more attune to strangers’ facial expressions, wrinkles, voices, hands, fingernails, skin color, languages, interactions... I sat at our gate, taking everyone in, with great curiosity and intrigue. The reunion with strangers flooded me with connection and gratitude. I wanted to hug everyone I saw. I wanted to know how they were doing.

Later, driving south on 95 in a rental car, windows down, sun bleaching the hairs on my forearm, I felt a remembering of an old version of myself: carefree and at ease; it was a welcome memory that I almost relaxed into. The Floridian landscape moved past me at highway speed; the humid air saturated the cells of my lungs.

Grateful and warm, I also felt a tightening around my heart, observing the ugliness that I’d been sequestered from the past year: cranes and more cranes; bulldozers parked next to exposed roots of ripped-up trees; miles of strip malls followed by miles of cattle farms, a 3-tiered display tower of cars climbing towards the sky… I suddenly felt that haunting feeling I’ve become so familiar with lately: we are stripping our Earth of its wild beauty and natural environments.

We got back on 95 the following day (all 6 of us, maskless, in one car!) and drove to the Indian River Basin. My father, famous for getting it all in, booked an air boat to explore the Blue Cypress Conservation Area. Grateful to be together and happy to see the joy light up in Pip and Phoebe's eyes, I had no expectations. We signed our waivers, pulled on our headsets to talk and hear over the noise of the fan, and we were off---VROOOOOOM.

I’ve never been on a boat where you don’t have to worry about a propeller; this boat fearlessly flew over floating islands of vegetation and wildlife. Along the edges of these floating masses, we spotted full-grown and newly-hatched alligators, tri-colored herons, great blue herons, red-winged blackbirds, limpkins, the difference between male and female cat tails, egg-sitting and nest-guarding ospreys. We also learned about invasive species like the apple snail evidenced by their pink egg sacks peppering the marsh. My heart would tighten at the sound of invasive and loosen again at the breath-taking sight of the lipkin's dive.

The next night, my mother, Pip, and I were pulling out of a parking lot lined with lit-up trees when Pip said, “Oh my goodness, Eggy, back up.” She did as he said, and there, in the knot of one of those lit-up trees was the sweetest little owl you’ve ever seen: a 6-inch eastern screech owl. He popped up and our headlights revealed his raised tufted ears and wide eyes. As he turned his head left, right, and left again, holding our gazes, he seemed curious. His tinyness swelled in our hearts. His eyes are designed to see in low light, and yet here he was, living in the shadows of a lit-up parking lot. We confirmed that this was, indeed, his home when we visited him again two days later.

Friday, we had a perfect beach day. We packed a picnic and our beach chairs, and the 6 of us lined up to face the horizon dividing sea from sky. We spotted sea turtles in the waves. After a swim, the chairs in the sun welcomed our salty bodies until they craved the gentle shade under our rainbow umbrellas. It was a seamless dance of musical chairs. My mum and I walked down the beach. Pip surfed the waves. Phoebe was giddy from her combined fear and joy of navigating past the surf's breaking point. Dad and Roo watched for tight lines while they threw the football back and forth. Soon, mum and dad took Pip and Phoebe back to the house; Roo and I stayed a little longer, content to be alone together. Once again, I was mesmerized by the people around us, and we began imagining their stories.

A young woman pushed a slight feeble woman in a beach wheelchair onto the beach and stopped near us. We assumed the latter was in her late eighties or nineties being wheeled outside after her afternoon nap for some salt air, her house abutting the beach. But as our eyes and minds adjusted to the scene, it was apparent the woman in the chair was younger--early 60s maybe. She appeared to be suffering from a disease like ALS or MS--her skeleton was overt and she clearly had no control of her body, but she was entirely lucid, and she exuded a grace and grit that swelled my heart. The younger woman lifted the feeble woman's head and slid off the elastic holding her light-brown hair in a ponytail.

A man, tan, in his swimsuit, drinking a beer, walked over to the women. We couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were laughing as he flexed his non-beer-holding bicep muscle for them. One-handed, he pushed the chair further down the beach towards the shore where the break was less severe. Was he her son? He put down his beer and squatted next to her chair; smiling, he slid one arm behind her knees and his other arm behind her back; her aide swung her second arm around the man's neck. As he stood up, the woman's beautiful hair fanned out over his shoulder. You could see how light she was in his arms, her feet rigidly pointed down, her limbs limp and dangling; a fierce beauty radiated from her resilience and his generosity. "He's taking her swimming," I declared to Roo.

We watched as he waded in, past the breaking waves, laying her fragile body on the surface of the calmer ocean, and slowly, he released her. He stood diligently nearby as she bobbed on the surface. I felt my body relax and ease watching her body float in the swells. I could hear her breath in my ears. Every now and then, the man would lean down, gently plug her nose, and immerse her entirely underwater. I imagined her feeling the sensation of escaping her physical struggle and dependence as she became one with the vast ocean.

She stayed in the water for about 20 minutes. I wondered if she did this every "perfect" beach day when the wind wasn't too strong. I hoped so. I imagined she got in the water every chance she got- she seemed like the type of person to take advantage of her opportunities. Eventually the man knelt down, brushed the wet hair off her forehead, slid his arms behind her knees and under her arms, and this time, he draped her arm around his neck; he stood up, and walked out of the water, back to the chair where her aide was waiting with a towel. Soon another man joined them. Was this her husband? The two men wheeled her back to where they had been sitting. There was a large group there--family? friends? a combination of both? They positioned the woman in the circle, directly towards the sun where she remained.

We could still hear their distant voices and laughter when we stood up to pack our belongings. As we were sliding our umbrella into its plastic sleeve, Roo said something I didn't quite make out. I looked towards the direction of his gaze: a young couple was walking down the beach. At first, I thought she was doing a strange broken dance, but as they got closer, it became clear they were high, really high, and they could barely control their bodies. "What are they on?" I asked Roo. "Probably heroin," he said. The evidence of addiction instantly hooked my own anxiety and fear. I watched them stumble down the beach and thought, 'at least they're here and not in a dark room'. I hoped the crashing surf, blue sky, and warm sun would provide them the same relief and respite.

As my eyes re-adjust to the outside world, I feel more sensitive to the ugliness I've been shielded from, but I also feel more affected by the beauty. I feel more attuned to my surroundings, my fellow human beings, and my inner landscape. The Tibetan Buddhist meditation master Trungpa Rinpoche said, "Any experience can be made into a further blockage or can become a way of freeing ourselves." I intend to use this past year of honing patience, living with more obvious uncertainty, and waking up to the broken systems in place as a means to free up more of my potential and to help others do the same. I intend to practice seeing the actuality of things without getting hooked by my ego--"that which resists what is." I will draw inspiration from the woman floating in the sea; the owl in the parking lot burl; the expansive, intact sawgrass marsh habitat; and my own delight seeing my parents last week: my mother tend to Pip and Phoebe with the same deep love she tended to me and my brothers; my father embracing every breath he takes with a contagious energy that reminds us to play and enjoy what we've got while we're here. I will also draw inspiration from the couple on the beach and the cranes and bulldozers along the highway: I will imagine more empathy and support for those who suffer from addiction and other debilitating diseases, and more land and wildlife being protected and preserved for future generations.

A few months before the pandemic hit, Pema Chodron published her most recent book Welcoming the Unwelcome, and wrote, "We are at a time when old systems and ideas are being questioned and falling apart, and there is great opportunity for something fresh to emerge."

I wonder what your fresh eyes will see as we re-emerge?

Happy Spring.

As always, thank you for reading.