Sight for Sore Eyes
This vision, my vision, is back good and strong. An aspect I have been aware of since neurosurgery. My glasses are void. My eyes have less pressure, less strain, less fuzz, more sight. Last week, six weeks on from the op, it was confirmed by the eye clinic.
I as ever am probably one of the most excited persons they have had arrive and leave. Practically singing the bottom line of letters and told how I read them better this time. Yay! I return to the waiting area and await the next stage of optic checks. Interact with fellow patients when it is possible in these current days of restrictions with masked, hidden faces. I look at the walls that hold scenes of the tropics and U.S. beaches. I consider the best way to get to one - the gorgeous West coast of Cornwall, home - as I am called for the optic nerve check. I give the doctor an update on my health as she brings the camera in front, scans both eyes, examines them and responds with a smile. 'They're looking perfectly healthy and pink. While you're here we'll inspect your field of vision and compare it to the test you had a few weeks before surgery."
To another location and seat I go. Wait with eagerness for a good little while - toe tapping, people scanning, sign reading - and then get called in. My chin goes upon a rest as I look into a dome. It is time for me to press a button as I spot the lights that come up, play dot to dot. Press quick, press hard, press eager, press excited. I can see. I can see more than before... A few minutes later I am back along the corridor and with the doctor who brings the results up on screen. She confirms this. Here is the evidence. Here is the proof. Here is a dream in its truth. I can see and oh gosh I smile and skip and wave my arms right now, here in this moment. Celebrate. Evidence with the truth.
My imagination and visions with eyes closed or open are on a wild. I play with shadows. Let sounds guide me to places and scenes. Follow colour trails from fingertips to trees. I play, play, play. The child and woman I am take hand and dance. Laugh wildly, purr stories and live every moment they are in; true. Words once whispered into my ears as a young teen return to me, "Be true to yourself." Gosh, it can take a lot to do such. Yet such enhances life with no measure.
Two days after the eye clinic I meandered by foot and bus to the swimming pool. Silver feather earrings tickle at my neck. Ones I wear for this travel so the child in me can listen to them play song in the waters. So the woman I am can hear what they have to say and write. I close and open my eyes in the pool for scenes to come and bring giggles, tickle at my ears, be the guide for this scene of life.
I dip into waters and swim beneath through blue light. Listen to the dream catchers rattle with the drummers beat. Coaxing me to chant and sing through the currents, ripples and waves. For my voice to rise through the grasses, take to the skies. Feel the tickle and hum of fish as the toad croaks and bellows his chest. See light change to that of dusk where whispers become the word of the settling sun. And those of the moon dance the pools of the nights opera. I rest and play in this life's skin. For I am the conductor of my core. True.
A week on, today, I am typing away as I buzz away. I share my absolute happiness with you. Although I do have my tired days. Two days ago I wept, flooded tears, with the touch of fresh air upon my cheeks unable to control my active mind which brought forth insecurities. With the wise words, love and touch of friends, walks in the fields, rest in long grasses, a wash in the reservoir, gentle yoga, settling meditation and the therapy of music I returned and let the fears go. Yesterday I rose grounded from good sleep and dreams leading into a day filled with the bliss of bringing smiles to the faces of others, illuminating mine. Today begins with fresh eyes, heart and lines. Today I share it all with you. Love.
P.S. The young blackbird I wrote about two weeks ago is back. She returned yesterday. Her right wing still looking a little ruffled. We sat next to one another in the garden. She came to my door while I busied inside. She munched away at seeds on the table while I ate mine. She made me smile with absolute delight. Gosh, she is back and sees me as a friend. To see her life in fruition reminds me of those I have seen lost on my recent walks. Those of birds and rabbits at different stages of birth, life, death, remains and decay. It is humbling. Here are this mornings words.
Piercing hole of life and death
Opened through beak, claws and teeth
Fur, feathers, skin and flesh
Chain of nature’s talk
Holding land walked
Of stone and grass
Streets and fields
Paved and open
Living day and night
Dawn and dusk
Teaching the fight of fear and fright
One's survivals must
Another's turn as dust
Piercing eyes of sky and ground beneath
Competing to catch and fly
Run the fastest in mortals law
Survive this day whole creatured
Or be the sustenance of beseeched
Royally plucked of feathers and fur
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Bethan loves the tales of life. From a moment of truth to the journeys we create with our wanders and imagination.