Eyes leading towards the inside

Her eyes, piercing blues in the pallor of the world around at this moment, peering back at me over a bowl of steaming hot mussels in a French restaurant, what is behind them? It is hard for me to not lock myself into this invisible spiral, leading me deeper into a siege of stares. Though, is it I who is diving deeper into myself by refusing to look away? I blink, and cast my glance to the side, as to use the waitress across the room as an easy escape, a mustering point from which I can again re-engage a level gaze into those eyes. What really pulls my sight aside?

Fear in the depths, the innards of ourselves. Seeing myself and my actions through my mind's eye judgement eases in, as if invited and welcomed at the door by some unseen other not me. I am angry with myself today in certain moments, but why?

In this, the same following day, the heady, deciding nature continues as I speak with my parents on the phone. During the midst of an off-topic conversations about chickens, I come to my breaking point. The conversation hurriedly ended by me with an 'I love you, have a good week.' What am I struggling to paw at?

The thought of mystic eyes come back to me, specifically a female's eyes. Not just any pair, though the blues of last evening. How, much like the clear, splitter, Colorado blue sky today, my recollection awakens to remember the iris-to-iris contact interred inside my memory. How long now have I looked into a pair of eyes opposite mine and wondered? How long again until I see eyes that capture and pilfer the breath, like a star witnessed falling in the night sky? Too long I presume.

the intricate and other worldly

Presumptions, those truly unknowing attempts at protecting the uninvited guest that slipped in when I was not looking. The protector of the other part of me - the "I," my Ego, as much a part of me as the hands and fingers which type this drivel scribble. Though, is it truly foolish ramblings emanating from within my mind?

Questions, the strong-handed foe across the table - no matter the size - always tabulating the score to be in their favor over the seemingly weaker and meak-er camp of answers. And, what would answers actually provide? Proof that the calculations are negotiable down to the letter, though not in favor of a digestible outcome I want to partake of in that moment of life.

What centers me? What draws me from the figurative preface of an edge? And, should I draw back from this edge, or lean-in, trusting that behind it is something deeper, closer to the nerve, the nebulous in which it was born. For how long have I been carrying this; the undetectable-till-now passenger present in my life - even if that is of subtleties' discernment and measurement?

This burst, my reality as I perceive it, for how many days now have I been waiting to push off the cover of the surface membrane holding it in?

The breathe retreats out, from an area of higher pressure inside to the lower pressure presence outside my physical bodily cavities. While my mind creates so much - perceiving, predicting, and presuming - what am I actually doing to move forward? To live more in the moment?

And what of my gratitudes for the day that I have had another opportunity at participating in? Underneath a centering breath, releasing of the tension paid out by my mind, I retrieve it. My undying suredness of certainty that the rigorous rhythm maker and center of love always abounding, that is the heart residing in my center, will never mislead me and only becomes clouded in choice by the creative delusions of a mind searching.

Thank you for this spiral of a journey, never too far from the reality flowing alongside on a parallel course. My role in learning I do appreciate.

Alan