Vardry Spencer - The Awakened Eye lyrics

Some look at the world beyond the skin and see just a world. Others look at it and see in it storm clouds and rain, suspicious and hostile movements bound to harm--sooner or later. And there are those who see nothing at all of the world but who see only pictures from the mind: Each thing seen is covered up with the darkness of the past, with vain remembrances of lost and dying dreams and tortured hopes of future happenings too nebulous and ill-defined to ease the restless moment. When I look at the world I see countless miracles of endless, changing color and shape, of movement and stillness. I see the dignity of life ignored. A lone tree with no leaves stands naked and bold in the Autumn wind against the pensive gray of rolling, sunlit clouds. A small chipmunk running through a shadowed stream making tiny splashing sounds, then stopping at the edge of leaning gra** and looking around at giant trees and all things great; fully immersed in the nature of its endless moving world. An old, rusted car hidden in the brush, an odd mix of thing and life, of metal and gra**, of life reclaimed by nature's children, an easy home for life's small, restless wanderers. A once well- traveled path now hidden by weeds and traversed only by comic squirrels darting back and forth across its width, playing some game known only to the beauty of small, unfettered minds. Two lovers barely seen amidst the curtained branches of an old Willow tree. Wrapped in each other's love and seeing nothing else, they hear powerful quiet sounds and melodies heated by the movements of embrace. Eyes closed, the touch is felt more deeply and more broadly than the outward hand can reach. The kiss is laced with the sweetness of surprised feelings suddenly unleashed in the spiraling colors of innocent discovery. An old man and woman holding hands on the front porch. Years and years of love, made quiet in the security of it's power. The old plaid shirt and the purple shawl slightly touching while they sway gently back and forth on the hanging swing. A soft, barely audible tune escapes her lips; perhaps a favorite melody of days gone by when first they met. Their beauty is complete, their unity unshakable, their love woven carefully, like fine silk spun from the loom of patient living and caring, of shared tears and nights of laughter round the fire while snow flakes fell on bending trees. There was a time when my eyes were shut tight and my ears were deaf to the beauty of life, with only clues and hints of something real. Confused was I, like a great city highway of winding, twisting thoughts going nowhere. And one day I beheld a blue bird singing from a window sill. I listened as he sang some unplanned melody. So full of life was his song that I too began to sing. And I sang, and sang without rhyme or reason-- without one care. And in the midst of that song all lesser things vanished. And their was calm. And there was peace. I found my voice. For I too am a song of life as all else is. When we can listen to the song that is singing us, we can hear the music of the entire world. We can hear reality without the echoes from the past. We can see reality without the ruse of old and battered imaginings. Then we can enter the beauty of life as one who enters his own home. And we can rest in it, and feel safe in it. And it will heal us and make us whole...