Invisible Connections | Catherine Viel

By Catherine Viel, January 26, 2022

(Golden Age of Gaia)

January 25, 2022

Half my thoughts still originate
in Paleolithic sub-Saharan
Africa, the other half in
turn-of-the-millennium
New York City. No wonder
any question I put to my-
self comes back garbled.
~John Brehm, Scavengers



Dr. Peebles recently gave me an exercise: close the eyes and focus on the palms of the hands, only on the palms of the hands, to quiet the mind and bring attention to the present. And after that, open the eyes, look at something specific, but immediately bring the attention back to the palms.

It creates an odd but pleasant sensation, a split awareness, one where the thing-seen is not labeled or even “known,” but impartially observed, because the attention is on the palms. I likened it to looking with the detached absorption of an artist, to see the thing itself without preconceiving “what it is,” since drawing with a rigid idea of what something is means not seeing what it actually is.



Yesterday, when I was looking out the kitchen window but bringing my attention to the palms of my hands, something different happened. I had a sense or an awareness of being right where I was as a central point, and then multitudinous tendrils or offshoots or filaments were zipping off in all directions and touching upon everything, everywhere. The boundless treasure of all existence materialized magically, albeit temporarily, in this limitless new mind’s-eye view.

It felt oddly commonplace, like something I’ve always been capable of but just hadn’t tried yet. Solid and real despite being physically insubstantial and unreal.

In other words, like similar psychic / spiritual visualizations, at least those I’ve had. Those experiences don’t seem to leave breadcrumbs behind. There’s no muddy footprints leading away from the scene of the happening. But those experiences nonetheless demonstrate a reality like the air in a balloon. It’s in there, or the balloon wouldn’t expand.

*****



I’m reminded of walking in the gates of a massive amusement park, Disneyland perhaps, and the roar of thousands of excited people, and the balloons and cotton candy and clattering, whirling rides, can overwhelm the senses.

If you stop inside the front gate and stand with mouth agape and eyes glazing over, you might waste your day in dumbfounded wonder rather than exploring all that’s there.

You have to draw your attention back inward to yourself, remind yourself why you’re there—to have fun—and pick one colorful, inviting doorway, one massively constructed ride or entertainment experience, and trot right on over to get in line.

You don’t forget that all the other rides and all the people and food stands and souvenir shops are still surrounding you. But just for this moment, you’re looking forward to the Matterhorn or Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. And you go through the gate and hand over your E Ticket, and settle yourself into the seat.



You think to yourself, right here, this is what I’m here to experience. And while you’re on the ride, you might notice, from the elevation clanking up the slope of the Matterhorn or looking down from the Monorail, what an endless array of events and experiences is spread out to sample.

And that is a bit what it was like, standing in my kitchen and focusing attention on my palms, gazing absentmindedly out the window but not labeling and categorizing: bird bath, patio roof, lime tree…

Unexpectedly, I was tuning in to specks of life and awareness all over everywhere, in a way that was impossible, but it was still happening. Good heavens, it’s endless! I can dart my attention, my imagination, anywhere in the world. Anywhere in all the worlds, in all the universes!



Talk about overwhelming. But I didn’t feel overwhelmed, just curious, and pleased to notice all that is available for my attention. It wasn’t being forced upon me. Nobody was telling me I had to look here, or look there.

It was a buffet of choices. And how delightful it is to be able to choose where my heart wishes to be. Or, perhaps more accurately, to be able to allow my heart, with its little flashlight beam of awareness, to meander where it wishes. Even to Disneyland, should that serve my highest and best good (who knows? We’re here to play, aren’t we?). And I accompany, but don’t direct.

I’ve dropped the reins, at least for this moment, and am happily just along for the ride.