Today’s companion post for Chapter Two considers sight and what we overlook on a day-to-day basis. Questions to get this week’s discussion started:
What is one thing you see every day without actually seeing it? What happens when you take the time to truly attend to that thing? What details have you missed in the past?
Dillard writes of the way our eyes observe “only about thirty percent of the light that comes from the sun,” while our brains edit everything we do see, “cutting and splicing it.” How does this statement make you feel? Is it surprising, scary, exciting, expected?
What habits (walking, sketching, meditation, or what-have-you) help you to embrace the second way of seeing that Dillard describes at the end of her chapter?
For your outdoors challenge: try to spend some time quietly observing a familiar place. What “extravagant” things appear?
My view from work 5-6 days a week is a pasture that slopes down to a pond and then slopes back up to a heavily wooded far side. I often look at it without thinking. When I do take the time to look at it, it is my favorite view. It looks like a painting. I have watched that view change and grow over the years. I see the different colors in it, the change of the seasons, and occasionally the wild life within it. It is to varied to list all the details you miss. It is truly a wide vista so you often miss the minute details. But the most common thing to miss is the delicate and bright green of the new growth in spring or the wild flower growing in the shade. You will also miss the gradual change of colors in the fall.
The statement makes sense. It really does not bother me or excite me at all.
Jun 21, 2023·edited Jun 21, 2023Liked by Gracy Olmstead
Yesterday my 2-yr old daughter paused mid-stroll (as I carried her balance bike with no small amount of frustration), squatted down next to some rocks, and said, "Mommy, look". She picked one up, wanting to take it (I denied that, since it was part of someone's landscaping), but I did indeed squat down near her to look. And yes, what appeared in passing as ordinary landscaping rocks yielded wondrous variety when examined more closely. Some were speckled, some were rough, others smooth, some were striped and layered. If only I'd had some water to dump on them to see their colors more vividly. I can't help thinking that each rock tells a unique story, if only I had enough understanding to interpret them. In slowing me down and inviting my attention, my little girl gave me an unexpected gift of seeing.
"Our eyes only observe about 30% of the light from the sun." I've often thought, of all the senses, that if our bodies will one day be redeemed and healed, how might our senses expand? What additional colors will we see, what other frequencies will we hear, what other tastes will we experience, etc.
For embracing or cultivating the "letting-go type of seeing" I love long walks, when I can get them. And I also love painting and sketching, which happens even more seldomly but provides a significant pause in which my eyes, in particular, can expand and narrow in turn and take in more of the minute variations and detail of the object.
As year-round bird feeders, our Lake community is crowded with a large species variety of winged friends. In June our environs are sprinkled with nesting spots and the resulting fledgelings. Blessed with many mature trees and bushes, I know that each and every one is more likely than not to have one or several birds on a perch. Some are singing, most are not. But if you scan a tree, back and forth slowly with your eyes, a hop or a flutter, a take-off or landing, or just a peek-out displaying a bright color; one of these is almost guaranteed to catch your sight, to catch your soul.
Wonderful observations, Dan. I've noticed how often noticing birds requires us to really, truly slow down and *look*. Bird watching is such a delightful activity. Thank you for sharing.
Oftentimes I am guilty of not "seeing" the everyday people in my life. Whether a roommate or a co-worker, it can be easy to stay in the rhythm of my autopilot mode and see people as simply props to my day, rather than whole worlds of infinite beauty.
*So* true, Becca! I have noticed this tendency in myself, as well. It's easy to go into autopilot mode. But the people around us are truly "worlds of infinite beauty." Lovely thoughts!! Hope you're well!
I so love trees - but mostly look at them from a distance - seeing how far they reach up to kiss the sky or how wide they branch their arms out...but never really really seeing their bark - the differences that exist from one to the next. I did this today walking around my neighborhood and loved it - some were more wrinkly - others more smooth - colors also change - despite the vast number of times I have passed them - I think today I really saw them for the first time.
What is one thing you see every day without actually seeing it?
Great question. For me in a semi-urban environment often I comment on the lack of beauty - but that is because my eyes and senses have been trained from a young age to love nature. But, in commenting on a lack of beauty, I am part betraying the fact I have not looked hard enough. For there is beauty in abundance in the wildflower eeking out an existence on the margins of the road. Instead of simply registering its existence, once you get up close to the petals, a whole new world opens up for those who take the time (and taking the time being the critical words) to truly see.
I love this, Hidden, and deeply sympathize! It's a bit more work to see the beauty in spaces that are full of concrete, construction projects, and the like. Dillard provides me with needed encouragement to "take the time to truly see," as you say.
My view from work 5-6 days a week is a pasture that slopes down to a pond and then slopes back up to a heavily wooded far side. I often look at it without thinking. When I do take the time to look at it, it is my favorite view. It looks like a painting. I have watched that view change and grow over the years. I see the different colors in it, the change of the seasons, and occasionally the wild life within it. It is to varied to list all the details you miss. It is truly a wide vista so you often miss the minute details. But the most common thing to miss is the delicate and bright green of the new growth in spring or the wild flower growing in the shade. You will also miss the gradual change of colors in the fall.
The statement makes sense. It really does not bother me or excite me at all.
Yesterday my 2-yr old daughter paused mid-stroll (as I carried her balance bike with no small amount of frustration), squatted down next to some rocks, and said, "Mommy, look". She picked one up, wanting to take it (I denied that, since it was part of someone's landscaping), but I did indeed squat down near her to look. And yes, what appeared in passing as ordinary landscaping rocks yielded wondrous variety when examined more closely. Some were speckled, some were rough, others smooth, some were striped and layered. If only I'd had some water to dump on them to see their colors more vividly. I can't help thinking that each rock tells a unique story, if only I had enough understanding to interpret them. In slowing me down and inviting my attention, my little girl gave me an unexpected gift of seeing.
"Our eyes only observe about 30% of the light from the sun." I've often thought, of all the senses, that if our bodies will one day be redeemed and healed, how might our senses expand? What additional colors will we see, what other frequencies will we hear, what other tastes will we experience, etc.
For embracing or cultivating the "letting-go type of seeing" I love long walks, when I can get them. And I also love painting and sketching, which happens even more seldomly but provides a significant pause in which my eyes, in particular, can expand and narrow in turn and take in more of the minute variations and detail of the object.
Beautiful!! The vision of children is such a gift.
As year-round bird feeders, our Lake community is crowded with a large species variety of winged friends. In June our environs are sprinkled with nesting spots and the resulting fledgelings. Blessed with many mature trees and bushes, I know that each and every one is more likely than not to have one or several birds on a perch. Some are singing, most are not. But if you scan a tree, back and forth slowly with your eyes, a hop or a flutter, a take-off or landing, or just a peek-out displaying a bright color; one of these is almost guaranteed to catch your sight, to catch your soul.
Wonderful observations, Dan. I've noticed how often noticing birds requires us to really, truly slow down and *look*. Bird watching is such a delightful activity. Thank you for sharing.
Oftentimes I am guilty of not "seeing" the everyday people in my life. Whether a roommate or a co-worker, it can be easy to stay in the rhythm of my autopilot mode and see people as simply props to my day, rather than whole worlds of infinite beauty.
*So* true, Becca! I have noticed this tendency in myself, as well. It's easy to go into autopilot mode. But the people around us are truly "worlds of infinite beauty." Lovely thoughts!! Hope you're well!
I so love trees - but mostly look at them from a distance - seeing how far they reach up to kiss the sky or how wide they branch their arms out...but never really really seeing their bark - the differences that exist from one to the next. I did this today walking around my neighborhood and loved it - some were more wrinkly - others more smooth - colors also change - despite the vast number of times I have passed them - I think today I really saw them for the first time.
Love this, Marie! The stunning diversity and versatility of trees is truly astounding.
What is one thing you see every day without actually seeing it?
Great question. For me in a semi-urban environment often I comment on the lack of beauty - but that is because my eyes and senses have been trained from a young age to love nature. But, in commenting on a lack of beauty, I am part betraying the fact I have not looked hard enough. For there is beauty in abundance in the wildflower eeking out an existence on the margins of the road. Instead of simply registering its existence, once you get up close to the petals, a whole new world opens up for those who take the time (and taking the time being the critical words) to truly see.
I love this, Hidden, and deeply sympathize! It's a bit more work to see the beauty in spaces that are full of concrete, construction projects, and the like. Dillard provides me with needed encouragement to "take the time to truly see," as you say.
Sorry for the typo!! Computer must have auto-corrected your name. Apologies. :)