Altering Perception

I’m sitting by a sliver of creek. It’s not much more than a long puddle, flowing slowly, noiselessly downhill. Though I suppose it can’t really be noiseless. The face of the water breaks into silver dimples as it kisses the rocks. Still, I hear only insects, birds, and the rumbling stop and go of a distant garbage truck. To hear the slow-moving water, I would have to unhear these other more clamorous sounds.

We can’t perceive everything all at once. I notice this with my eyes, too. I gaze at the flowing puddle. My eyes break through the surface of the water to the rocks, clay, and sodden leaves that are its bed. The water, though transparent, seems brown. And then I adjust my focus with a movement of the eyes that I can’t describe but am sure you know, and the image changes completely. The creek bed all but disappears, and my eyes are greeted with the quivering reflection of trees and sky. The water, still transparent, seems green and gray.

I can see rocks, or I can see trees, but I can’t really, truly, fully see them both at the same time. It’s up to me to choose my focus. It’s up to me what I perceive. It’s also up to me how much weight I ascribe to any given perception.

Today, will I perceive my sickness or my health? Will I perceive the doors that have closed or the doors that are open? Will I perceive my gifts or my losses? Or will I perceive, perhaps, that there are always more than two possibilities—that the world isn’t built on strict dichotomies?

With time and another tweak of my gaze, the creek presents a third image: the image of the surface itself. In some places, the water is glass, smooth and clear to the point of invisibility. But just upstream, the water flakes into fish scales, silver and shimmering. In another spot, the surface is a series of swirling cogs, turning one after another. And right by my feet, in a place that at first glance appeared glasslike, luminous rings hurry downstream, flat bubbles blown by a paper doll.

The trick to seeing a new image is being willing to release the image that came before it. We have to allow ourselves the momentary awkwardness of refocusing our gaze—of briefly seeing nothing with clarity, in order to open ourselves to the possibility of fresh perception.

What might you perceive differently today?

P.S. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it many more times: thank you for being here! If this post spoke to you, please consider sharing it with a friend, commenting below, replying to this email, or buying me a coffee below.