I read a piece about the science behind gazing, some of the physiological things that happen when you look deeply, and silently, into the eyes of someone else. Something powerful happens inside our minds and bodies, producing chemicals and responses that can be measured.
In the reporting, there was a brief paragraph about finding yourself regarded in a stare by an animal at the zoo. You realize that you are being considered, you are being thought about, you are being responded to by an animal who cannot speak to you. Its thoughts, however, are captured by you and directed back to you. Do we really need to talk?
Before I read the article, I had seen a video of a busy city sidewalk where strangers were invited to sit in facing chairs and gaze at each other for one minute. Some embraced their partner after the minute. Others had spontaneous tears.
The short film ended with a quote from American philosopher, William James, “We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface, but connected in the deep.”
I have a little dog, Bobby. We live in a tiny cabin, and he seems to be always looking at me. I know that, because I’m usually looking at him. Must be what it would be like to gaze at God, and finding Him gazing right back at you through the window you left open in faith and trust. He greets there your naked soul, the part of you created in His image and likeness.
Is it a window,
or a mirroring of souls?
Moon on the still lake.
Gazing into eyes—
iris, pupil, how they change.
Soul remains serene.