1-9: I wonder how much I miss. I live in routines and ruts, which is not a complaint since they are mostly chosen and preferred to other ways, but I know they lead toward seeing certain aspects of my surroundings and missing many more. Routinized seeing is a serious danger; I need to be alert and attentive so that the unexpected can appear and capture my attention and, as well, so the routine can be seen anew. I’ve never been good at maintaining a highly attentive mode of going about the world and probably never will be, but I will be better as long as I don’t fail to try. The time I spent with the Ansel Adams books a couple of weeks ago were significant in that for the first time I got a real sense of what a photographer or artist’s eye sees and how it’s seen. Subsequently I’ve been on the bluff overlooking the ocean and was able to frame areas I looked at as if focusing a picture; it was like seeing a gestalt form and the framed area seen as a whole and in its detail and with new appreciation. It probably would never come naturally; I’ll have to remind myself, but when I’m able to do it I see more and better than when I’m not. Accentuated perception through any of the senses becomes another way of mindfulness, which matters to me because this is how I give realities their due, and reveal unities, and pay respect on the way to my own unity, my experiencing relational Thou.
I was so affected by my time with the Adams photo collections that I found a used copy of his autobiography online and have just started reading it. I’m surprised that in my 30+ years of loving engagement with Yosemite and long awareness of his work that it took me so long to reach this point of appreciation. I can be lamentably slow about some things. Too much breadth and too little depth at times. Too much sleepy routine.
Photo by Ansel Adams via Wikipedia
