I had been wandering for hours, blind, barefoot, lost in the forest, no water, almost sunset. How could this happen? It all started with a quest for better vision. I first began wearing glasses in sixth grade, and like most people, have seen an increase in my prescription over the years. I switched to contacts in tenth grade and wore them consistently for the next twenty years. Indeed, my motto for a long time was, “Home is where the contact lens case is."
I decided to go back to wearing glasses full-time about five years ago. I went to my optician for a new set, feeling that I was having a hard time reading. The doctor said my prescription had changed so minimally that it was not worth getting a new one, but instead they encouraged me to simply stop wearing my glasses when reading, as I am nearsighted.
Part of my Ph.D. program included a six-week course in Integrative Vision Therapy. Much like the aromatherapy class, I knew that this was something I wanted to use for myself right away. As soon as I started the unit, I began taking my glasses off in earnest. I beaded an eyeglass chain to make it easier for me to switch back and forth from my prescribed vision to “naked vision.”
This was a mindfulness exercise. I started with fifteen-minute increments, usually while studying, and gradually increased to a few hours (cumulative) a day. I began to challenge myself more by walking the half hour to my dance classes with no glasses on, observing my internal state as I negotiated streets and crosswalks. I noticed feeling internally softer as I experienced the blur, as well as a softening of my facial muscles. I felt like I was not wearing my social mask, but instead felt really relaxed and unconcerned about other people and their perceptions of me. I also found myself less worried about the mundane details of life (paying bills, returning calls, picking up kids, etc.) and more enjoying the moment, discovering how much more I really could see than I had expected. I felt safe and grounded, never in any danger.
Not that I’m ready to drive without glasses, but this was certainly the proverbial eye-opener as to the extent to which my glasses felt like a crutch. As I navigated the paths in my softer vision, I found it easier to visualize the steps I needed to take to decrease my stress levels in other aspects of my life. This seemed to flow with the assertion that nearsightedness is a message of being afraid to see what’s out there, of pulling with, and to begin reaching out with a clearer purpose and to take risks, as well as to use relaxation techniques that allow “being” more than “ doing.”
I found myself using naked vision more and more, during lectures, meetings, and times when I didn’t have a need to be completely focused (i.e., in control), such as hanging out in a café or having dinner. Breaking my morning habit of reaching for my glasses had been difficult, but I now I could trust that no gnomes had moved the coffee-pot in the middle of the night, and I found it easier and easier to delegate my lenses to the realm of something that I need to drive, much like my keys, rather than something I need to clingto all day long.
Time passed, and I finished the final exam for the course, and I knew sushi would be somewhere in the picture as a reward. It was still fairly early in the afternoon, so I chose to start with a hike up to the Land of Medicine Buddha, a retreat that was close to my office in Soquel Village.
Just driving through the redwoods felt relaxing. I parked my car about a half mile away, planned to walk up to the retreat, do a brief walking meditation around the prayer wheel, and be back in about half an hour, if that.
I took my glasses off as I moved along the road, finding my rhythm and feeling my stride. As I crossed a little bridge, I noticed how much noise my shoes were making, and I decided to slip them off. I popped them by a tree trunk, putting my car keys and glasses inside, so I wouldn't have to carry anything either. I felt light and easy in the moment.
I had been stressed all month, combined with allergies, and had seen a return of GERD and asthma as a result. "What steps do I need to take for my health?" kept going through my head as I reached the Prayer Wheel. I gripped the handle and began walking, closing my eyes and letting the wheel guide me. I thought about how many feet had stepped on this circle before, how many prayers for peace and to be released from suffering had been chanted. I noticed the shadows and golden sunlight dancing on my eyelids as I went slower and slower.
After some time had passed, I felt complete. Jauntily, I set off down the path feeling better than I had in a long time. After a while, the path started to veer sharply up, and I came across a gate with a "No Trespassing” sign.
It should say "No Stress-passing," I thought, realizing right then that I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. "Okay, " I mused, "Here's this adventure." Well, four hours later…
Some who wander actually are lost. I had to laugh at myself, for pretty much I was experiencing my worst nightmare - no idea where I was, barefoot, no glasses, the sun starting to set, getting thirsty. And I was fine. Of course, I started to imagine more and more dire situations - by the time I did find the bridge, what if a squirrel had stolen my car keys? I took some deep breaths and reminded myself to be calm, be mindful, use my senses, tune in to nature, my nature.
I paid attention to the moss under my sore feet, the feel of stepping on soft, dead leaves, the quiet rustles, and inconsistent bird calls. This was no vision quest, the finding of a spirit name. It was a trust walk, as in I could trust that I could find my way back home. I turned a corner, and there below me in the blurry distance was the bridge with my little blue car parked far below. I wound myself down through the purplish dusk. Never have I felt so thankful to slip on my shoes, jingle my keys, tuck my glasses safely behind my ears, and be able to focus clearly. And I tell you, that was the best sushi I've ever had in my life.
(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)
