I was impressed when I read that my vision field is bigger than I can really pay attention to. It's a periphery thing, you know, in case something over there on the edge moves or jumps or something. When I keep my eyes still, I can become aware of items within my vision that I had not been paying attention to. It seems a similar thing happens when I imagine something. Reading the poem The Joy of Writing, I was given an image of a doe drinking from a stream. I can see the animal. She is more or less facing me, with her head down over the bank. My mind supplied details that neither the poet nor my conscious mind required.
Last night, we watched the local Monteverdi Chorale do their Christmas presentation on their Facebook page. Moving! Beautiful! The voices, the tunes, missing John Lay brought tears to our eyes. It is right there if you want to look it up. The carol Still, Still, Still in their presentation or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir on YouTube will do your heart and soul good.
Ever since my Nigerian coach encouraged me to up the level of my waiting, to recognize waiting as an important and honorable activity, I have been waiting better. This last time I meditated, for an instant, I could see my remaining minutes. I could sense their end. I felt an inner jolt and a silent protest: "No!" I have heard that I am wired to dread and avoid death so I am not surprised that sensing the time left and no more could elicit some sort of basic internal protest. If I am going to beat the record for long life, I still have a long way to go so I am objecting to any termination or vision thereof.
