I felt something touch the back of my head. At first, I thought it was a bug, but the shadow at my side betrayed a larger entity, one roughly the size of a small child.<\/p>\n
I knew immediately that my youngest son Mr. B. was standing behind me with his fingers in my hair. \u201cMr. B.,\u201d I asked, \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m looking,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
I heard a foot stomp behind me. I turned to find Mr. B. glaring at me, arms folded across his chest. \u201cYou lied to me mom,\u201d he whined. \u201cThere are no eyes in the back of your head.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, there are,\u201d I replied with a feigned look of astonishment on my face. \u201cYou just can\u2019t see them. They disappear whenever a child looks for them.\u201d I picked\u00a0him\u00a0up by both arms and lifted him into my lap. \u201cThey are magic,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
The story of the eyes in the back of the head is common among mothers. As was the case with many children my age, my mother warned me about this second pair of peepers. I was convinced that the story was true. Mom always seemed to know what I was up to, even when she could not see me. It seemed only fitting, and fair, that I pass on the story to Mr. B.<\/p>\n
But my pragmatic little boy wasn\u2019t buying it. Not one word.<\/p>\n
Of course, Mr. B. was literally correct in his evaluation of my visual abilities. As useful as it sounds, I have never had eyes in the back of my head. No matter how I flex my neck or turn my skull, I cannot see directly behind me without a mirror or turning my body.<\/p>\n
Unless, of course, I happen to be a flamingo.<\/p>\n
The flamingo in the picture stood in front of me for several minutes before I realized that he was watching me. My husband pointed out the eyeball nestled in the bed of feathers. His long neck enables him to turn his head in many directions, allowing him, pardon the pun, a complete \u201cbirds-eye view.\u201d<\/p>\n
Perhaps, I should take a flamingo home, just to keep an eye on my mischievous poodle.<\/p>\n
Meditation<\/p>\n
As it turns out, the idea of having eyes in the back of one\u2019s head is merely an idiom, but an important one. Akin to mother\u2019s intuition, the extra eyeballs placed where one is normally blind, refer to one\u2019s ability to see past the obvious. Seeing in this way is less about discovering what is hidden beyond the field of vision, and more about understanding and experiencing life at a much deeper level.<\/p>\n
There are different types of sight. Seeing with the eyes is the obvious use for one\u2019s eyeballs. Seeing with the heart and mind is less obvious and much more important.<\/p>\n
When I told my son that eyes can be magic, I wasn\u2019t lying.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I felt something touch the back of my head. At first, I thought it was a bug, but the shadow at my side betrayed a larger entity, one roughly the size of a small child. I knew immediately that my youngest son Mr. B. was standing behind me with his fingers in my hair. \u201cMr. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2451,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[695,697],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-560","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-favorites","category-live-with-purpose"],"yoast_head":"\n