Bright shiny eyes

I see …

by Franci Hoyt

A number of years ago, a certain young man told me that I had “dog-brown eyes”. I was not impressed. As a child, my grandfather would sit me on his knee and tell me wonderful stories of how brown eyes could see better than blue eyes, in an attempt to curb my disappointment at having blonde hair but not getting the usual blue eyes along with it. When, at the age of eleven, I had to get glasses, it seemed as if my eyes would be a liability for the rest of my life. I was wrong.

My whole body serves me loyally day after day. It obeys my command, suffers my negligence or strain, and houses my soul – all without me thinking about it too much, except when I criticize it or complain about it. Yet today, as I walked to town in pouring rain, I realized that I am thankful for my body. My whole, imperfect, yet perfectly loyal body. I thought about how horrible it would be to lose parts of it – the use of my hands my or legs, the failure of an organ, contracting cancer, or loss of sight, sound, taste, touch, smell …

I made a hypothetical decision that I would give up most things, as long as I could keep sight and hearing. As a musician I cannot imagine a world without music, but if it came to the crunch, I would even forfeit my sense of hearing if God would be merciful and I could still see.

Because I see poetry, you know. A poetry that catches glimpses of moments inexpressible with words or even music. How do you adequately use words to describe the movement of seaweed underwater? The sight of a small boy on a hot day licking his melting ice cream; the drops of dew on a spider’s web; the small white flowers on a prickly cactus; the little blonde hairs on a tanned bicep bent at work; the sight of a mother nursing her child?

Do not bore me with the science of sight, because that alone is not what makes me see. My eyes truly are the windows of my soul – through two beautifully designed holes in my head, my soul takes in the world around me and the poetry therein, but it also tells you about me. Just as I can look into your eyes and right there I can see the scars of life, your questions, your naivet, your hope – so also you can see these things in me.

Mouths are full of lies, full of boasts, uncontrollable and pretentious. But the eyes cannot lie, for your soul always shows the truth about you. Your soul shines through your eyes. Truly, in the eyes there is a poetry of the soul, so deep that that is where words stop and true sight starts.