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Dawn Kotzer

Prompt #7 invites us to share an insight...
For some reason this memory has been with me all week. Perhaps because it all started with a gentle rain, a goodness pouring down...No insights yet but I enjoy the memory...

cont'd from Prompt #6:

It seems impossible that so little effort can create a bridge of such wonder~ an access point~a seamless portal to the best of what can be.

Standing still, taking in this this wonder, I scan my horizon. To the north, the east and the west of me, I look through a forest of sundrenched crystals hanging like reflective prisms of joy from every branch on every tree. There is no discrimination.
Birch and Fir, Pincherry and Poplar have been blessed alike.
I walk down my path of wonder, tearing up at my good fortune to have listened to the heart of my discontent, urging me to escape my own sad, sorry self and venture out into nature.

Each step takes me further along the path of this day's enlightenment, leading me forward to the edge of the low cliff where I turn and offer my face to the western sun.

mmmm...could life get any better...I think not.
I am wrong.

Turning to face the east, I'm overcome.
There, dropping down into the lake on the far side of our property is a huge, juicy, gently vibrating rainbow.
I swear I can hear it sing.
Did you know Rainbows sound like crystals whispering on the wind?
I stand, receiving its vision, embracing the moment, honouring the Rainbow's song.

Karen Bayly

Freaky! That's all I can say. Freaky!

The child looks like she's had someone else's eyes transplanted into her skull. Before I met her, I assumed the picture I saw was a Photoshopped image - some adult's green mascara'ed eyes superimposed onto a child's face. I doubted that the original eyes were even that pale shade of green.

Today I met the child and this is exactly what she looks like. Is she an alien? Is she an experiment in super-neoteny? There is a theory that says we are attracted to neotenous traits such as large eyes, small nose, small jaws. Such traits make us look more child-like and vulnerable. Neotenous traits are especially valued in women and in domestic animals.

Yet if this is an experiment in super-neoteny, designed to make this child more attractive, it has failed. Her face disturbs me. It is inhuman to say the least.

She is so unlike the silver back gorilla she has been watching. He is supposed to be inhuman but I know he is not. One night last summer, he was sitting with his back against the window of his night enclosure. I stood on the other side, awed at being only a few inches and a sheet of reinforced plate glass away from such a magnificent animal.

Without thinking, I put my hand on the glass. He noticed the movement and turned his enormous head to face me. I could not help but stare into his eyes, even though I knew he may take it as a threat. I could not avert my gaze.

He did not take offense, only regarded me mildly. There was no danger in those deep brown eyes so full of strength and knowing. For I did not look into the eyes of an ape or a beast. I looked into the eyes of a man of the forest, eyes so human I almost cried out in alarm and joy.

Eyes that haunt me to this day.

Laura A Eschbaugh

Have you ever watched a caged bird? Not a canary, or parrot in a gilded cage, but a wild bird— a rescued bird. I stopped at a rescue refuge while on a trip recently. It was a cold, gray day and I wasn't dressed properly for a prolonged walk in the woods. Occasionally snow would float in the air, but the calls, hoots, screeches pulled me further into the sanctuary. I was instantly mesmerized by the birds. The habitat included hawks, falcons, owls, a racing chicken from china and eagles; there were at least a dozen eagles.

I stopped at one enclosure where a bench had been dedicated to a sponsor. At first, it was just to change lens on my camera. However, I could not stop watching this marvelous creature. It wasn't two feet away, some wire and wood separated us, and we were breathing in the same cold air, looking out across the same vista. I could see where the white feathers of its head met the brown of it shoulders. Some of the feathers were edged in gold; a few snowflakes lingered before disappearing. Tufts of down peeked through the darker feathers of its breast as a gust of wind tossed bits of straw in a swirl around us. His beak curved to pale yellow tip and the eyes—those golden eyes with deep black wells in the center. Staring into the eyes of a rescue...

Rescued, oh yes here we are the glorious rescued wild eagles. For instants Fred—I saw you take his picture when he spread his wings trying to fly. Did you hear his screech just before the end of his tether before he plummeted down? He wasn't stopped by that flimsy piece of leather; no, it was his cry thudding into the dirt two feet below him. Fred can't see something he ate or so the keepers say. Can't let him go cause he can't fend for himself, they say. He was rescued and tethered for you to take a picture.

On the other hand, there is Roosevelt over there. Farmer filled him full of buck shot because he thought he was stealing his chickens. Felt guilty when he realized Roosevelt had caught a weasel, so he rescued him. Roosevelt won't open his wings won't even try to fly. Now he watches the watchers. When he thinks no one is looking, he practices how you walk. He thinks one day they'll leave a door open, and he will just walk away.

And there is me, I was rescued when a logger knocked me out of my nest. I was stunned not dead. Now I am rescued–from every flying again. You don't understand flight; you climb into tin tubes with screaming wings and think that is flying. You don't know what it is to feel the air push you up until even the tops of trees seem like twigs. To feel ice on the edge of every feather then dip down in a slow spiral, skim water catching a flash of silver beneath the surface and soar to stone outcropping, sun full and warm dinner at the ready. I am rescued from being an eagle....

..... Eagle in such a small enclosure. I sat there for over an hour, in the cold, and cried.


I looked into the eyes of the old deaf blind dog knowing she couldn’t see but somehow hoping that by staring at her I’d let her know that my former feeling of disdain for her unattractive appearance had dissipated. For some reason a sadness came over me when I saw her this time…a sadness that had to do with my utter distaste of her when I first met her a few years back. For some unknown grace on this day I saw her as a creature of the Holy One and she endeared herself to me. She accepted her sightless state and made the best of it. She lived her life as it is …as it will forever be without sight. I stared into those unseeing eyes and asked her forgiveness realizing my own blindness to the goodness of all creation.

Laura A Eschbaugh

Hello Karen
I experienced your piece as I read it. It is interesting so many of us wrote about a cathartic experience when we made eye contact with the 'beasts of the world.'

Linda C

The two of you sit
quietly intent
not talking
trying not to smile
but if you do…
even if you giggle
it’s OK
stay with it,
you and your fellow
seeker. In time

a comfort settles in
expressions soften
pretense disappears.
Looking deep in
one another’s eyes
is called
‘eye gazing’
deep galaxies found
within your
neighbor’s sky.


-Ut imago est animi voltus sic indices oculi-
The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter


Latin may be the source
yet the engraving forms
soft golden curves of Arabic
as the eye's myth lies
carved in the silver base.

My soul,
lost in the dust of Cairo,
glows with a fierce love
as the Muhandessin
shopkeeper delicately
points out the amethyst eyes
on each side of the ring.

The fallen warrior,
intimate with the red flecks
of my hazel windows,
hides somewhere
behind a singing Minaret.

Escape the embassy,
I think.
Place your faith on
my finger.
Embrace my
leap into your green doors
now shrouded
in the gray cloud of
worthless death
that's disfigured
your soul.

Twirl the ring,
feel the
corners of the scroll
neighboring fingers to
bring forth the
feel of a smile
when he caught
a brown trout or
shared his love
with poetry,
before his eyes turned
to close.

Wanda Hatton

My sister, who speaks in a strong convincing manner, subtly strikes my enthusiastic idea down with incorrect facts of her own. I take in what she says without responding. I cannot think fast enough for a quick comeback. Of course, now I can think of a myriad of retorts. The incessant conversation in my head drives me crazy.

A lightbulb goes on in my head. Insight floods my senses. This is an ongoing habit of mine, not only with my sister, but with all authoritative type personalities who exude power. At the moment of impact with their dastardly words, I don’t want to crush their image of themselves. Afterwards,I have been known to get caught up in a tornado of thoughts about what I could have said to keep my dignity. It can last for days, weeks and even months! Sheesh!

So what should I do about it? I just happened to be reading my astrological prediction for the week where Rob Breszny’s advice makes me jump out of my chair…”Taurus, figure out, once and for all, why you keep doing a certain deed that is beneath you. Stop doing it with such a somber demeanor and heavy tread and put more pleasure into it.” Wow. My mind just switched to another frequency.

The whole scenario is now comical. If it happens again, I will try laughing. Not in any disrespectful way, of course, but just a light chuckle. I will silently forgive them ‘for they know not what they say.’ I can still love them and go merrily on my way, allowing the festering in my head to be replaced with anticipation for my brainchild plan.

Wanda Hatton

Yes, I would love to look into someone’s soul
If I practice hard enough perhaps it will happen
With meditation
And sensitivity
I am a soul seeking person
My gift is intuition
I used to think it was nonsense
But now I believe it

Jocelyn Brown

My eyes within may never see
all that my heart will lead me to be

I wish that all was as I imagine:
A world, perfect, for all religion

I wish, I yearn, I long for peace,
peace within the heart of me.

For in that peace, there's a step, you see.
A step for peace in hearts of all: Yes, a Key.

A Key for rest and bliss and newness.
It's serene, mellow, clearheaded, and yellow.

Chargrined, I stand. Flustered, I be.
Mortified and self-conscious about what I perceive.

Yet, the child of my heart runs giddy and free,
Dazzled by sunrise and all that HER eyes see.

Jocelyn Brown


Jocelyn Brown


My eyes within may never see
all that my heart will lead me to be.

I wish that all were as I imagine:
A world, perfect, for all religion.

I wish, I yearn, I long for peace,
peace within the heart of me.

For in that peace, there's a step, you see.
A step for peace in hearts of all: Yes, a Key.

A Key for rest and bliss and newness.
It's serene, mellow, clearheaded, and yellow.

Chagrined, I stand. Flustered, I be.
Mortified and self-conscious about what I perceive.

Yet, the child of my heart runs giddy and free,
Dazzled by sunrise and all that HER eyes see.

Jocelyn Brown

Sweet Dharma Eyes

You sit, you stare.
I, asleep in my bed,
awaking to the early morning light filtering through the closed rust-red sheer curtains.

I feel your staring eyes, your presence.
Waiting eyes.
Confident eyes.
Assured eyes.
Patient and eager eyes.
Sounds of furry feet shifting on the carpet touch my ears.
I exhale and grasp my pillow closer.
Dreams, like mist, still float through my mind's eye:
Visions of a wolf's eyelash and its exuding powers.
Short. Concise. Not piercing. Not whispered. Just right.
I pull the comforter over my bed-head.
The eyes. I can still feel the staring eyes.
"Okay, okay!”
Heaving the duvet from my morning face, I roll over.
There, my breathless, attentive alarm clock sits, currently on snooze mode.
My (yes-they-are-real) lapis lazuli blue eyes encounter Sweetie's brown (like my-leather-couch-brown) beaming canine eyes.

Dancing black feet adorned with white toe tufts speak the hour.
Wild backyard wild critters await.
Arise and shine for daylight’s come!
Yippity do dah, yippity day!

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