Chapter 14 · 3 min 09 sec
Open Eye
Patience as a radical act — the dignity of slow, deliberate growth over time.
Lyrics· 291 words
[Verse 1] They said to look outside for it / they said it was out there The car the house the body / the love that fills the air But something kept returning / to the center of my head The third eye was already open / it was just waiting to be read
[Pre-Chorus] Ajna / ajna / the eye between the eyes Ajna / ajna / where the inner and outer rise
[Chorus] Open eye / open eye / see what's always been in view Open eye / open eye / the whole world is inside of you Open eye / every thing you seek outside Open eye / open eye / it was only ever inside
[Verse 2] The pineal gland is ancient / it was built to receive the light DMT at birth and dying / it has guided us through night The mystic and the scientist / are circling the same flame The inner eye was always open / consciousness is its name
[Pre-Chorus] Ajna / ajna / the eye between the eyes Ajna / ajna / where the inner and outer rise
[Chorus] Open eye / open eye / see what's always been in view Open eye / open eye / the whole world is inside of you Open eye / every thing you seek outside Open eye / open eye / it was only ever inside
[Bridge - psychedelic mantra drop] Om ajna namah / open the eye Om ajna namah / the inner sky Om ajna namah / purple and gold Om ajna namah / the story untold See / see / see / see / open / open / open
[Outro] Open eye / open eye / already open / already wide
Short Story
*Ordinary things, seen truly, are not ordinary.*
She stopped in the middle of the supermarket.
This was not planned. She'd been on her way to the bread aisle, distracted, running through the list in her head, doing the thing you do in supermarkets which is move through them without seeing them.
And then something made her stop.
The light.
The particular quality of the light in the cereal aisle at four o'clock on a Wednesday in November. Fluorescent and strange and falling on the boxes in a way that was, objectively speaking, just supermarket light — but that, if you stopped and actually looked at it, was also something else. A quality of light that was doing what light does, which is illuminate, and in illuminating, reveal.
She stood and looked at the light on the cereal boxes.
A woman with a trolley moved around her with a polite expression.
She looked at the light for another thirty seconds.
She wasn't sure what she was looking at. She wasn't sure what had changed. The light was the same light it had been ten seconds earlier, before she'd stopped. But she was looking at it differently. She was seeing it, which is different from the light just being there while she passed through it.
She went to the bread aisle.
She thought about the light for several days.
She started noticing light more often. Not analysing it. Not making it mean anything. Just stopping, occasionally, to actually look at what was in front of her.
Ordinary things, seen truly.
Extraordinary, every time.
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*The sacred is in the ordinary. You just have to stop and look.*
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