eyes watching - waiting - seeing

“Each Monday morning, fellows gather for SEED SOURCING: a shared "storytelling" practice. In the fictional, parallel plane of this story-space, the familiar social and physical laws are suspended. Each fellow is invited to speak from the most direct contact with their inner world - offering story, vision, image, or language that arises from the deeper current beneath surface experience. The practice is oriented toward the sourcing of the seed: that initial pulse of freedom, imagination, desire and possibility from which creation emerges.”

1 // Eyes watching
There are eyes watching.
They are everywhere, all around, and I know that I don’t see them.
I don’t know them,
but they know me.

They think they know me—
some of them do, I really believe.
Some of them only think.
But thinking isn’t really a good vantage point for watching;
you’ll have your eyes turned toward the back of your head,
playing whatever you want on the big screen of your mind.

The eyes I looked into
they saw me.
I saw them.

I don’t know where they lead.

Like the eyes in the bath this morning,
in the water turned brown from my clay shampoo—
there were eyes luring me in.
It looked like a trick from the underworld.

Here’s a photo

What do you think ?

2 // Eyes waiting
In the bath, in the clay-darkened water,
I felt them not as threats,
but as a presence,
A gaze that wanted me to give in.

I remembered the stories;
Siddhartha, who starved his body,
quieted his mind,
sat at the river until the river spoke.
But the river did not speak
until Siddhartha learned about love.
It was love.
Love that pulled him from silence
into the trembling of the heart.

In the bath, clay-dark water swirling,
there were eyes that belonged to her.
Kamala,
the presence of one who teaches through touch,
who reveals the soul not by silence,
but by desire.

I thought of Siddhartha:
how all his fasting, all his meditations,
left him untouched,
until Kamala’s love drew him into the living world.

So too in this bath, I thought of the underworld.
About Hades reaching not only to capture
but to enshrine what he could not resist.
Persephone, falling, blooming,
learning that descent is also an opening.

The eyes I saw were not just watchers.
They were invitations.
To fall, to be led,
to let the clay water blur the line
between surface and depth,
summer and winter,
death and return.

Perhaps the underworld is not a prison
but the first touch of love.

3 // Eyes seeing.
Wisdom is incomplete without the experience
of the trembling world of the senses.
Every touch is a seed,
a pomegranate split open,
planting its juice in your veins.

Do not starve your body.
Do not leave life untouched.
Live with your tongue out,
taste it!
the world spills like ripe fruit.

If the water darkens,
don’t get out of the bath.
It means the river speaks.
It means the underworld is opening.
It means you are being touched by love.