Once was blind, but now I see
How hard it is, not to see
How hard it is, to hear
To truly hear
To listen
To truly listen
Open up my eyes, show me I’m alive
But
There’s more –
Open up my mind
To realise
That all are blind
None see
There is an unseen
The deaf know
The blind know
Faith is not confined to sight
Faith is not what I see
Faith is not about me
Faith goes beyond
Faith is what I can’t fathom
Faith is what I can’t grasp
Faith is what I don’t see
Faith is what I believe
Faith goes beyond
Past the mind
To the heart
The life’s song
An echoing drum
Of eternity
Breath
Spirit
Life
Faith was about keeping face
Following law
Until
Jesus
Then
Faith had a face
A way
A truth
A life
f r a m e d
By grace
through Faith
s a v e d
for Faith
Christ came
for Freedom
Christ set us free
What spurred today’s reflection? There was a lady at church the other week.
She was blind.
She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want questions. She wanted to listen, intently.
It was hard.
I tried to speak, beyond the seen. To discuss the sensory; the heard, the taste, the felt. I tried to paint a picture from what she would know. Not to rely on the seen, but to use words to describe the unseen.
It made me realise how much we assume. When we speak, we assume that others see. Not only do we assume that others physically see, but we assume they see how we see. Even when we can physically see, our perspective can blind us from another’s reality.
Not one perceives as we. Not one receives as we. All are unique.
Ah! the dualities, the complexities, In a conversation held for more than five minutes in length, I challenge you not to reference or describe anything relating to sight. Try not to discriminate against the senses, but differentiate your focus.
Consider how much you rely on the seen. Ponder what lies deep.
I think back to that time when I walked on the beach, eyes closed, moving along with the sensory outside the seen. I relied on the sand under my feet, feeling the surface, tracing my steps, avoiding any rocky edge. I relied on the wind whipping me, my hair wrapped around, my body wobbling, a force to weigh up. I relied on the waves, the gushing and rushing of their energy, the sound of the whooshing, the echo in the eardrum detecting the nearness of the waters.
As I surrendered my reliance on sight, I was able to tune in more to my surrounds.
In that moment, I was not afraid, not unsure. Instead, I had to trust all the more.
To slow, to listen to the silence of sight that is the voice of life.
May we all stop to slow, to recognise how blindness creeps in, and how the Word is alive, inside, and not found through the eyes.
