In the Carrara National Park in Costa Rica, our naturalist guide told us we would be walking slowly and if we wanted to see the most rare parts of the rain forest we would have to have quiet eyes. Without quiet eyes we would never see the long line of termites crawling on the tree buttresses or the Great Tinamou bird in the underbrush.
“Walking slowly and having quiet eyes is not my, nor my six year-old son’s, natural inclination. But we did it.”
The beauty of quiet eyes is that the quieter we became the more bustling with life the landscape became. The more yeses there were—everywhere. Like the Whos in Dr. Seuss’s Whoville saying, “We are here! We are here!” A Jesus lizard running on water here, a two-toed sloth there. Here a Slaty-tailed Trogon, there a termite—life pulsing everywhere, with its proudly odd beauty and essential distinctive purpose.
Quiet eyes reveal visual fireworks.
A quiet heart can translate deeper truths.
A quiet mind invites meaningful conversation.
I was running on the beach a year after my mom passed away. I find my heart most able to be quiet and still when my body is running. I could hear inside my head her presence tell me to “slow down.” Not run around so much? I asked. “No,” she said, “Slow down your feeling and thinking. Slow it… all the way…down.”
I had slowed it enough to hear her. And I have since slowed it further to be able to hear other messages that have helped guide me to see my own failings and become more loving and accepting of myself and those around me. Do these messages come from my mom? Angels? Gods? Inner wisdom? Does it matter?
Quiet eyes show us what we are to do. How we are to find our way, to see new. A quiet heart provides guidance for our seeking selves.
