The eye is the lamp of the body; so
if your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light.
~Matthew 6:22
Eyes wide open. Eyes on fire. Eyes in motion. Lying eyes. Crazy eyes. Eyes
are windows to the soul. The eye is the window to the universe. The
eyes of an old soul. Evil eye. The all watching eye. Bedroom eyes. The eye of the tiger. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. The apple of my eye.
Language is filled with metaphors referring to eye contact. It's
a major factor through which we communicate our wants and needs.
It's said that by looking into the eyes of a person one can see their
hidden emotions, attitudes and thoughts. We associate identity with
the eyes from the day we are born. I was taught when I spoke to
someone, I made eye contact. It not only showed good etiquette, it
showed respect. My dad once told me not to date a particular boy
because he couldn't look him in the eye when he shook his hand. It
was another case he knew more than I did. He taught me a lot more
useful knowledge about body language and I may have even been the
twinkle of his eye, but that's irrelevant to this post. I truly
believe the eyes is the space where your true identity dwells and
allows you to see your inner light shining dim or bright.
I'm writing about eyes because I learn a lot about people in a
non-verbal way. I have seen tremendous pain and sadness, I have seen
liars and dishonesty. I have seen sincerity, hatred and evil. And I
have seen love and forgiveness. One time or another, we all have
picked up on one or more of these attributes. Which now brings me to
why I am writing about eyes.
I love antiquing and I confess it's a bit of an addiction. It's
not the kind of addiction where I have to hock something to purchase
something else that reminds me of days gone by. I would say it's
more of finding something that touches my heart or an object I think I absolutely
can't live without. Every where you go, antique shops are popping
up because people need or desire to touch something of their past.
An object that reminds them of grandma, grandpa, mom or dad or just a
reminder when life was less complicated.
During our recent vacation, we found a very unique shop in Florida
with the most unusual things. It housed a large collection of 50's
and 60's Hollywood art, framed Vargas prints and the largest
selection of working console stereos I had ever seen. I was reminded
of the wonderful earthy sounds my parent's fabulous Hi Fi, my
mother's pride and joy. One record after another played on the shop
owner's prized stereo while we browsed the delightful store. My
husband goes his way, and I go mine. We search every nook and every
shelf looking for a new found treasure. This day, both of us found
something we couldn't live without.
I saw my husband gravitate towards a collection of knives then I
went my way. Up and down the isles, in and out of rooms dedicated to
a specific eras, I saw things I grew up with, toys, jewelry, vintage
clothing, furniture, even a huge collection of unique ashtrays. I
was awed picking up, touching and reminiscing around the shop when I
saw it, a beautifully matted and framed photograph hanging waist
high. It wasn't the picture or how it was framed that attracted me,
nor was it the person. It was the eyes of the woman in the
photograph. I sat on an ivory upholstered chair next to the picture,
stared only at her eyes and began to cry. I have never done this
before, at least not in public. I dabbed the running mascara and
walked away. I meandered towards the back of the store a little
embarrassed and saw my husband up front negotiating with the owner
about a knife he was holding. After 43 years of living with this
man, the look on his face told me he was having an emotional moment
too.
The next thing I know, I'm standing in front of the photograph again
having the same reaction. This time my guy is standing next to me
wanting to know if I needed a hug. I turned away and said, “No. I
want the picture.” He was miffed why I needed a picture of her.
It's not my thing, nor has it ever been to have framed pictures of
celebrities. When I was a teenage I had dozens of pictures of teen
heartthrobs plastered on my bedroom walls. But never had that desire
as an adult.
“Can't you see the pain in her eyes?” I asked with
tear filled eyes. He shrugged. He didn't understand. “Her eyes
evoke something deep within me. I can't explain it,” I said.
Without a single word, he took it off the wall and handed it to me.
I took it to the counter to negotiate a lower price with the owner
and once again I could barely maintain my composure. They didn't
understand either. If I had a bad day, or I felt the world was
crashing down on me, I could understand why I reacted the way I did
when I saw this photograph, but it wasn't the case that day. It was
her eyes and only her eyes.
My husband showed me his purchase and began to tell me why buying
this ivory handled switchblade was important to him. His eyes
softened and he choked on his words. “I had a knife identical to
this. I gave it to Angel for good luck before he went to Nam.”
He went on to tell me the story when his friend returned and thanked
him for the good luck piece. I heard the story before long ago, but
I listened with compassion once again. When his friend returned
home, he apologized for losing the knife. He told him it saved his
life when he had to use it on “Charlie.” It's been years since
he's seen or heard from his friend, but the memory of the day he gave
his blade to his buddy is still embedded in his mind and in his
heart.
We left the shop of oddities and treasures with our heartfelt
purchases. The price we paid was nominal for what we thought and
felt was priceless that afternoon. The picture of Marilyn now hangs
in our guest room. When I look at her beautiful face and into her
eyes, it still evokes a soulful emotion. Like all art form, it's
understood in the eye of the beholder. And I understood. The knife
is polished, sharpened and placed in a handmade case. It makes my
guy smile.
Marilyn Monroe
Photographed by Milton H. Green
Pensive Ballerina, 1954
