eye of beholder: psalm

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Something catches my eye.  I notice.  I linger.  I become a question mark.

It’s not really me doing the catching, doing the looking, the lingering and yet: it is me, and yet: it’s more than me, it’s beyond me.  It is in me, around me, high above me.

My beholding eye.  Still.  Moving.  My selfless self wavering like a paper thin kite lifting and suspending in the air. Holding the twine between my fingers, my eye floats.  I follow.  I go where the kite goes.  It goes.  It catches.

A bird, the curlicues of a falling leaf, the wideness of a late afternoon azure sky, a bevel in a pane of glass, a paint chip, the downbeat off a bass lick.  Or as Denise Levertov describes, noticing a dog going, “intently haphazard.”

What strange subtlety, little invisible imperceptible perceptions.  I wonder.  I wander.  I pause and without forethought, my eye dilates and beholds.

It has a life of its own, my eye.  It sees something I don’t see and now I see it.  It knows what it’s looking for.  Yes?  My eye or the object of my beholding?  It is the curious threshold between me and the world.

christopher

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