Right Eye Left Eye

More about Right Eye Left Eye

Look into the upper right corner. There stands that terribly depressing Gothic church, a monument constructed from the accumulated vocabulary of human misery.

Every stone is a self-imposed misfortune. Every spire is another melancholy thought reaching toward a heaven it has already decided is inaccessible.

Human beings are extraordinary architects of unhappiness. We manufacture these tired, bluesy little poems inside our skulls, poems without endings, sometimes without beginnings, certainly without any proper narrative. They wander around the corridors of consciousness, changing costumes, creeping into our dreams, occasionally convincing us that they constitute reality.

Meanwhile, in this distant autumn forest, the right eye and the left eye are hanging around like two celestial strangers who have forgotten why they came.

They will never meet.

There will be no eclipse, no reconciliation, not even some magnificent Viking apocalypse in which the wolf Fenrir’s offspring finally swallow the sun and moon.

But perhaps their separation is imaginary.

It is real enough if you believe in space.

Yet there is another sphere altogether, a mysterious planet that occupies no particular location because it pervades every location simultaneously.

Some call it the Third Eye.

And here is the peculiar tragedy of existence: even couples are lonely. Two people can spend an entire lifetime together, sharing their beds, their meals, their dreams, and still inhabit separate universes.

Perhaps humanity is evolving toward something unimaginably distant, a condition in which the distinction between myself and everybody else becomes as obsolete as the borders we have drawn across the Earth.

No left. No right. No territories. No arguments about which side of an imaginary line consciousness happens to occupy.

Only consciousness recognizing itself everywhere.

But to understand this, return to that miserable Gothic church.

Look above it.

There, in the upper right corner, the light is breaking through.

This is something I remind myself while living in a cold northern climate, where clouds can become so permanent that people begin mistaking the weather for the structure of the universe.

Above those clouds, the sun is shining.

It has never stopped shining.

Travel beyond the atmosphere, beyond the miserable little meteorological dramas of our planet, and there it is, pouring its extraordinary generosity into the darkness.

The clouds never extinguished it.

They merely interrupted our view.

And perhaps that is the entire mystery of the Third Eye, the Invisible Sun, the consciousness that requires no particular location.

We have spent thousands of years constructing Gothic cathedrals of separation inside our minds, convincing ourselves that loneliness is the fundamental architecture of existence.

But the light was never divided.

The two eyes were never really separated.

And that mysterious third sphere was never somewhere else.

We were connected before there were borders, before there were churches, before the first human being invented a sorrowful little poem and mistook it for eternity.

The sun was always shining.

We were always connected.

And perhaps awakening is nothing more complicated than discovering that the clouds were never the sky.